


Stained

by orphan_account



Category: Persona 4
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Degradation, Eating Disorders, Grooming, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sexual Abuse, Suicidal Ideation, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:15:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24453517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Yosuke discovered the Pool on the first of what he came to think of as his dark days.
Relationships: Hanamura Yosuke/Kinshiro Morooka, Hanamura Yosuke/Seta Souji
Comments: 4
Kudos: 76





	Stained

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted here: https://badbadbathhouse.livejournal.com/846.html?thread=2349646#t2349646

There was a spot, far from the bustle of Inaba, where the Samegawa River ran wide and slow. The water was deep, there, and very clear. Lazy fish hung far beneath the surface, twitching their fins to keep from being swept downstream, while trees along the far bank bent low branches to the water. On sunny afternoons, all the birds of Yasogami seemed to congregate there. Mayflies danced, floated, and died. Ducks quacked and dabbled. Even in winter, the place had an austere appeal, the water shining like a mirror under the grey sky. Nobody went there for picnics, or to skip stones across the placid surface; it was simply too far. In its abandonment, it had the tranquil air of a sacred place.  
  
The villagers called this spot the Pool of Blood, not because of any violent history, but because twice each year, the water ran red. In autumn, drifts of red leaves fell in and swirled with the current. In spring, red algae bloomed, and remained till summer neared its peak. But despite its fiery colours, the Pool was cold. It was too close to its mountain source to have picked up warmth from the earth and sun.  
  
And, for one black year, this spot played refuge, bath, and confessional to a young man with nowhere else to turn.  
  
Yosuke discovered the Pool on the first of what he came to think of as his dark days. He'd been cycling the path near the riverbank, entertaining some confused idea of drowning himself. But even as he thought it, he knew it was stupid. The Samegawa River flowed too gently to pull even a reasonable swimmer under, and he swam like a fish. So he opted instead for retreat: a break from the world. He sat at the water's edge, head hung between his knees, listening to the wind and the birds.  
  
He wanted to do something to upset the peaceful scene. He wanted to cry, or throw stones, or scream himself hoarse. But he couldn't. He felt weighted down. The smell of Morooka's wet wipes still clung to him, anchoring him to his pain. That smell had never had pleasant associations for him. It reminded him of doctor's visits, of old people's homes, of humiliating cleanups after "accidents" on long car journeys. He wanted it off him. And that, he could do something about. The river looked clean and inviting. He waded in fully clothed, barely pausing to kick off his shoes.  
  
The cold water shocked him: the day was warm and heavy with summer, and even sitting on the bank, he had broken a sweat. But the current that streamed round his legs felt like glacial meltwater. Still, he kept wading in, till he was submerged to the waist. He lay back into the current, then, letting it chill him to the bone. It was an awful feeling. It cored him out, left him breathless. It sent sharp cramps shooting through his calves and thighs. His stomach tied itself in knots. His teeth chattered, and his nose ran.  
  
But the shivers didn't hit him in earnest till he emerged from the river. The water seemed to take his body heat with it, as it evaporated in the sun. He shook so hard it felt like a seizure. It rattled him to the bone, and sent spasms through his muscles. His stomach clenched again, violently, and he lost his lunch. Normally, he hated to puke, but this time, it felt almost good. It felt like, with that painful heave, he had expelled some of the poisonous feeling that had settled on him after--after--

The thought filled him with dismay. Desperate for distraction, he knelt by the river and jabbed his fingers at the back of his throat. At first, he only managed to coat his hand with drool. He pushed them further, experimentally, and was rewarded with a wrenching gag. He nearly stopped there. It felt terrible, and _wrong_ , and his eyes were watering with the strain. But the stain was still in him. He felt poisoned, contaminated. A couple more frantic pokes, and he threw up again. For one shining moment, he felt clean: hollow and empty and free of sin. But that fragile peace couldn't last. Soon, the weight of what he'd done to himself crashed down on his shoulders, and the tears finally came. He lay in the fine river sand, and sobbed like the world was coming to an end.  
  
He felt a little better, once his tears had run dry. He picked himself up, and straightened his river-damp clothes. He even managed a sheepish smile, when he looked down at the mess he'd made of himself. By the time he made it back to Inaba, he had a goofy grin plastered over his face, like any boy who'd been up to something he shouldn't have been. Still, he was glad nobody spoke to him as he made his way home. He had an idea his composure, while convincing, was tissue-thin.  
  
The river became a frequent haven for Yosuke, over the following months. He got the ritual down to a science quickly, and after that, it didn't change much. First, he stripped off his clothes, folded them neatly, and laid them on the riverbank. Then, he emptied himself of the horror (crouching behind a bush to void his bladder and bowels, hastily, shamefully; kneeling to vomit into the river, till that feeling of emptiness came back). Finally, he bathed in the chilly current till he could no longer feel his extremities, or much of anything else. Sometimes, he cried afterwards. Other times, that was enough, and he made his way back home.  
  
He told himself he could make it through anything, as long as he had the river to carry away his shame. But there were times (when he sat down to study, when he watched other students find strength in numbers, when Morooka's eyes appraised him greedily), when he thought he might shudder apart at a single touch. He imagined himself shattering like a pane of glass, and being ground underfoot. His grades, never brilliant, dipped dangerously close to failure. His father was always angry. He zoned out at work, and got laughed at. He played his mistakes for comedy, hoping his antics might win him a friend or two, but if anything, it made him less popular than ever. Sometimes, he wondered if they could _sense_ the stain on him.  
  
He thought about telling someone--anyone--but what could he say? They'd ask why he'd let things go on as long as they had, and he had no explanation for that. There was nothing to do but endure, by whatever means he could.  
  
It was many months before Yosuke's dreary routine was disturbed, and at first, it seemed like things were only going to get worse.

*

It shook him badly, when Souji discovered his refuge. It had been a particularly horrid day: Saki was just hours in her grave, and Morooka had caught him trying to sneak home early. And he'd wound up here, forcing himself through his wretched ritual, one more time. He'd felt like he was punishing himself, this time, as well as purging the stain. Saki had been decent to him, even if she hadn't meant it--but he'd been powerless to save her. He couldn't even save himself. He was worthless, garbage, slime. He was nobody at all: that was how Morooka knew he could do the things he did, and get away with it. Who would stand up for someone who didn't exist? Who would have pity on the prayers of a ghost?  
  
He wasn't sure how much time had passed, since he'd run from the meeting room and out of the school. It felt like he'd been here forever, slumped on the riverbank, empty as the desert. There had been no dramatic sobbing, today; just a slow leak, punctuated by wet sniffles. He was just beginning to think about pulling himself together and going home, when he heard a soft clearing of the throat, from the cycle path behind him. He scrambled to his feet, dismayed. Hot blood rushed to his face: _how long? What had they seen?_  
  
It was Souji standing there, looking uncertain. "Yosuke? Yukiko said you'd headed this way, and I--"  
  
"How long have you been there?" Yosuke's voice came out clipped and angry. Souji held up his hands in a gesture of peace.  
  
"A minute; I don't know. You--you seemed upset, and I wasn't sure I should disturb you."  
  
"It's okay. It's just...this place is kind of my private spot, where I come when I want to--" He shrugged, embarrassed. "You know. Be alone. Whatever."  
  
Souji nodded. "I had a place like that, back in the city. Our building, it had once had a garden on the roof, and there were all kinds of pots and planters and--and those wooden frames for climbing plants. I forget what they're called. But ivy had crawled over everything. Nobody'd been there in years." He looked past Yosuke, watching the river. "It was quiet, at night. I'd go up there and listen to cars go by, or...well, like you said. Whatever."  
  
Yosuke forced a wan smile. "You can sit here, if you want. I'm sorry about...."  
  
Souji raised his eyebrows, as though to confirm it was OK, waiting for Yosuke to nod before he plopped down on the sand. "Don't worry about it. I did kind of sneak up on you."  
  
"So, why were you looking for me, anyway? Did something happen"  
  
"Nah." Souji picked up a dried stick, and used it to doodle absently in the sand. "Only, Chie said she saw you run out awfully fast, and with everything that's happened, I thought, maybe...."  
  
"Yeah." Yosuke let out a long, shaky breath. "It's been a hell of a week. They buried Saki, this morning. I guess that made it all feel a little too real." He blinked, not wanting to cry in front of Souji.  
  
"Too real...."  
  
Something in Souji's voice made Yosuke glance his way. To his surprise, Souji's eyes were red and glistening. He wiped the back of his sleeve over them, leaving a trace of wetness beneath.  
  
"You OK, man? You're looking a bit messed up, yourself."  
  
"Yeah. It's just, another new place, and I miss...and everything's been...." He shrugged. "I'm sorry. You're the one who knew Saki, and here I am, throwing my own little pity party."  
  
"No, it's a good thing. I mean, not a _good_ thing, but sometimes...maybe you need to know you're not the only one." Yosuke smiled. "I was getting all depressed, thinking about how nobody knows what it's like, and...I'm glad you came."

"Thanks." Souji hesitated, for a moment, then slung a companionable arm round Yosuke's shoulders. Yosuke stiffened, gasped, and finally relaxed, letting his head rest against Souji's. He was exhausted, he realised. And it felt comforting, being held this way, not--  
  
Fresh tears stole from the corners of his eyes, as the spectre of Morooka invaded even this friendly moment, the first he'd shared in what felt like forever. This time, he let them fall. When Souji noticed, and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, he scarcely held back a sob. If he let go now, he'd lose it completely, and Souji would think...would know.... He pressed his lips together and concentrated on breathing, in and out, slow and steady. To his relief, the urge to break down faded into a warm, drained feeling. It was almost pleasant.  
  
When Souji spoke again, some time later, his voice was thick, but steady. "Your hair's wet," he said. "I just noticed that, when it soaked through my shirt. What'd you do, fall in the river?"  
  
"Nah, I had a shower at school, earlier. I was all hot and sticky." The lie came easily. As the words came out, he felt some of the stain and contamination seep back in. His stomach rolled sickly, and he pulled away, standing up in a hurry. "It's getting dark. Maybe we should, you know."  
  
"True. Dojima didn't want me staying out too late, anyway." If Souji noticed anything amiss, he gave no sign.  
  
Yosuke got on his bike, releasing the kickstand with a flourish. "So, I'll see you, I guess."  
  
"Sure, see you at school. Hey."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Next time, if I see you heading out this way.... Well, I'll give you your privacy. I know it must've been weird." He was looking at his feet, seemingly abashed.  
  
"Thanks, man. I--I really appreciate that. I didn't want to say anything, but...."  
  
"It's cool. I totally get it."  
  
"You want to ride back with me? You're pretty light; you could perch on the back."  
  
"No, it's okay." Souji kept his eyes cast down. "I could use the walk. To think about stuff. But thanks."  
  
"No problem."  
  
Yosuke rode home in a daze. He wanted to be happy: Souji had talked to him, and it had felt normal, _good_. It had helped, feeling like they'd been comforting each other, not just him falling to pieces, and embarrassing himself yet again. But even in such an unguarded moment, he'd lied. And he'd done it without a second thought, as though it was the world's most natural thing. When had he learned to do that?--to keep the mask up, even when he was perfectly safe? He could've said _Yeah, I went for a swim--pretty stupid, huh?_ and they'd have laughed it off, and the stain wouldn't be reclaiming him right _now_. Now, when he couldn't go back to the river, because Souji was walking behind him, and he'd have to wait till tomorrow to wash it off, and he'd have to _sleep_ with it, go to _school_ with it, walk the halls, sit in class, slog through his shift at Junes, rife with _filth_.  
  
He could feel it creeping on him, almost a physical sensation. His skin crawled, and he felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. He pictured it (the stain, the contamination, the disease) as a black, oily thing, with a smell like wet wipes and shit. It spread over his skin, first, then invaded his body, oozing up his nose, between his lips, even his ears, his eyes, his--  
  
He whimpered, a feeble, unmanned sound. He leaned over the handlebars and spat, as though to rid himself of a foul taste.  
  
It was going to be a long, long night.

*

"Yosuke?"  
  
Yosuke lay in the dark. He didn't cry, not now, not so much as a sniffle. Not when he might be overheard, and bring more worry into the house. He wanted to get up and turn the light on, but he was already in a world of trouble for his grades. The last thing he needed was a reprimand over wasted electricity, to top it off. He wanted the comfort of his headphones, but he didn't deserve it. Not after lying again--to his father, this time. It was hard to decide which was worse: Souji's easy trust, or his father's weary resignation. So he lay quietly, half curled in on himself, clutching his stomach. Dinner wasn't sitting well. Tight cramps worked their way through his gut, and there was a sour taste in his mouth.  
  
He could hear the sounds of arguing, from downstairs: his father's low, angry growl; his mother's high, sharp interjections. They had banished him to bed so they could fight over him. Morooka had phoned and ratted him out (for trying to sneak out of school, for an assignment he'd bombed, for inattention in class), and they'd been waiting for him when he got home. He'd sat miserably on the sofa, too tired to concentrate on their words, but he'd felt their disappointment wash over him.  
  
After dinner, his father had sat with him, questioning gently. Was something bothering him? Was he being bullied at school? At work? The kindness had almost done for him; he'd been on the verge of crumbling, and spilling everything. But the words had caught in his throat, and he'd mumbled something about Saki, instead. This had earned him an exasperated sigh: _Yosuke, this has been going on a lot longer than that--_ months _longer. If you aren't going to be honest, you might as well go to bed._  
  
So he had, and the stain had gone with him, thickened by his lies. He pictured it dripping off him like sweat, soaking into the sheets, and the mattress below. It infected everything it touched, turning his futon into a sucking swamp. In the darkness, it felt _real_. It solidified in him, forming a lump in his throat, a weight in his stomach. It leaked out of his pores, clotted his hair. His pillow was swimming in it.  
  
"Yosuke!"  
  
He stared into the dark. The pestilence came out of him in tendrils, on his breath. More than anything, he longed to sink into the river, to lose himself in its frigid embrace. He wanted to be a fish, and let the current flow through him from end to end. He'd breathe it in, and it would flush out his lungs. It would fill up his stomach, and dissolve his heavy sickness.  
  
"Yosuke? Anyone home?"  
  
It was too much. He couldn't stand the softness of his futon; it was like lying in warm, yielding _dirt_. He got up, stripped off the sheets and pillowcases, and dumped them in the washbasket. He flicked on his reading lamp, fumbling blindly and nearly upsetting. It cast a warm patch of light on the floor, and he lay in that patch, pulling his knees to his chest so his feet wouldn't stick out into the dark. The floor was hard, but it was all right. The stain couldn't soak into the wood. It would bead on the varnish like oil, and he could--  
  
" _Yosuke!_ Come on, man; you're starting to worry me!"  
  
"Souji?" He blinked. They were in the library, of course. Studying. Or, Souji was studying. Yosuke was--was--  
  
"Are you sick, or something? You totally zoned out!"  
  
"I...." He coughed, rubbed his eyes. "I don't think I've understood a single word on this page."

Souji took Yosuke's book. "Oh, _The Confessions of Lady Nijō_. It took me a while to get into that, too." He tapped his pencil on his teeth. "There'll probably be an essay question. King Moron was going on and on about how crass we all are, compared to her. As if _he_ were a shining example of class! Every second word out of his mouth's an insulting one."  
  
"I really... _hate_ King Moron."  
  
Souji rolled his eyes. "Don't we all? But, seriously, you probably understand it better than you think you do. Like, start with what you thought of it, and go from there."  
  
"I don't know. It was sad." Yosuke stared at the table, feeling _grubby_. He couldn't concentrate, with the poison inside him. How had he let himself get cornered into studying, when he ought to be--when he _needed_ to be--  
  
But Souji was interrupting him, dragging him back to reality. "Yeah, that's good, but for exam purposes, brevity is _not_ the soul of wit. You'll need a bit more than that."  
  
"Ugh. I suck at this. I guess it seemed...unfair, the way she went through life. Almost like abuse, like everything was _forced_ on her. She had to say the right thing, dress the right way, and whenever she tried for something different, she ended up just...alone. All her poetry, all her art, her--her life, all for...for--nobody even got to read her book till she'd been dead for centuries! _What?_ " He glared at Souji, whose eyes had gone round.  
  
"Nothing. I'm sorry. That was--that was good. Kind of, uh, intense, though."  
  
"I have to go." Yosuke's voice came out in a whisper.  
  
"Now? One minute, you're freaking out over your grades; the next--"  
  
"I just.... There's something I have to do. I can't concentrate, like this."  
  
"Like what? Man, what's with you, today? You're scaring me."  
  
Yosuke shook his head, summoning the last of his self-control. "Nah, it's nothing like--nothing bad. It's just embarrassing. My dad brought home some funky seafood last night, and I feel like I'm gonna...." He swallowed hard.  
  
"Oh! Now that you mention it, you do look a bit green around the gills. You need me to come with you, make sure you get home OK?"  
  
"No, it's fine. Stay and study." He pressed his lips into a smile. "My dad can come and get me, anyway. Junes is just nearby."  
  
"Call me later, though. You really had me worried, there!"  
  
The expression on Souji's face (sympathy, relief, concern) brought a sting to Yosuke's eyes. He turned away quickly, sweeping his books into his bag. With a quick nod, he hurried from the library. All he could think about was getting to the river, getting the grime _off_ him, _out_ of him.  
  
He nearly made it. He had his shoulder on the door, pushing it open, when his plans were dashed.  
  
"Hanamura."  
  
Morooka. Behind him. _Right behind him._ He must've been following, closing in, choosing his moment. Yosuke froze.  
  
" _In the meeting room._ Ten minutes." Morooka was close enough for Yosuke to feel his body heat. He hovered, apparently expecting a response. Yosuke's throat closed. He couldn't speak.  
  
"Do I have to get your parents in here for a meeting, Hanamura? I saw you today, dozing off in class."  
  
"No."  
  
"No, what?"  
  
"No, sir."  
  
"Right. Ten minutes. And, Hanamura?"  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"You won't sleep through this."  
  
Morooka sloped off, practically dripping self-satisfaction. And the black stain closed over Yosuke. It felt like being zipped into a body bag.

*

Yosuke woke up. It was dark. And cold. Very cold. And he was naked. He shivered, wrapped his arms round himself, and went back to sleep.  
  
He woke again, some time later. Something was wrong--but what? He burrowed his face into the pillow, which, for some reason, was full of sand, and something wet, that smelled of--  
  
" _Fuck!_ "  
  
He sat up suddenly. His head spun, and he hung it between his legs, waiting for the feeling to subside. He didn't need to look, anyway, to know where he was. He could hear the river behind him, and the wind soughing in the trees. A night bird was singing. For a while, he let himself concentrate on that, and only that. Once the bird flew away, he could worry about such matters as getting cleaned up, getting home, figuring out _what the fuck he was doing here, in the first place._ That was the worst part, the part that was threatening to unravel his fragile calm. He'd been in the library, Souji quizzing him on literature, and then...what?  
  
No. He wasn't going to think about it. The bird was still singing. It chirped a simple tune: four notes (two low, two high), then a long, cheery trill. Just that, over and over. He was okay with that. He was pretty damn _happy_ with that. Maybe the bird would stay a long time, and then he wouldn't have to think about--  
  
\--he'd been on his bike. That had been after the library. He'd been riding like a bat out of hell, doubled over the handlebars. He'd been _snarling_ , lips pulled back, teeth bared, and he knew he looked stupid, but he didn't care, because....  
  
"No, _stop!_ " He flinched, startled by the anguish in his own voice. Apparently, the bird was startled, too. The song broke into a series of squawks, and there was a brisk rush of wings.  
  
"It's going to be okay," he whispered. "You're here. Nothing bad can happen, now." He shuffled to the water's edge, on his knees, and bent to the flow. He dipped his whole face in, turning his head to let the water wash out his mouth. He remembered it now, why he was here, how everything had got screwed up. Remembering _hurt._ For one awful moment, he thought he was going to faint and drown, but the chill of the river kept him from drifting away. When the dizziness passed, he pulled his face out and backed away.  
  
"You're safe," he told himself. "Just get it together, come on, a little longer."  
  
It had been late afternoon, when he'd come here. He'd purged himself of Morooka's poison, and bathed in the river. But the ritual had been harder than usual, more painful. His head had felt fuzzy. When he'd vomited, bright sparks had exploded in front of his eyes, and he'd nearly pitched into the river. Bathing, the weak current of the Samegawa had nearly drawn him under, and he'd choked. He'd barely made it out of the water, crawling on hands and knees. And then the shivering had started, and the full-body cramps, like the first time he'd come here. He'd puked again...and again, and again. He hadn't been able to summon the strength to raise himself on his elbow, so he'd just turned his head to the side, and--  
  
\--and he must've passed out. There was still vomit in his hair. He tried not to think about that too hard, in case it got him going again. That, he did _not_ need. He was clean enough, in the only way that mattered. Now, he had to get dressed and get home, before his parents completely lost it. It had to be midnight, at least. He'd promised to be back for dinner. And he'd missed his shift at Junes. _Great job, Hanamura: first school, now work. What'll you fuck up next? Going to let someone else die?_

 _Stop that._  
  
A calmer voice piped up inside him, overriding the hysterical, angry one. It sounded like Souji had done at the library, when he'd helped Yosuke puzzle out the mysteries of Heian literature. It was a forgiving voice. A protective voice.  
  
 _It's okay,_ said Souji-in-his-head. _Once you're on your bike, you can coast straight home. It's all downhill. There you go. Trousers on. One leg, then the other. You're not going to faint. Steady...steady. Now, your shirt. You don't have to button it all the way. You can zip your coat over it. There, see? You're fine. Promise. But it's time to go. It's okay. I'll be with you all the way. Just hold on...._  
  
He barely wobbled, as he set his bicycle rolling down the path. Souji was right (no, not Souji-- _him_ ; it was crazy to think Souji was somehow talking in his head, and Yosuke wasn't crazy. Not yet, anyway.)--but the voice was right. All he had to do was perch on his bike, and let it roll him home. It wasn't so bad. He was going to make it. Maybe his parents would already be in bed, and he wouldn't have to explain himself till the morning. By that time, he'd have pulled himself together. He might be able to--  
  
"Yosuke? Yosuke Hanamura?"  
  
He started, nearly fell off his bike. He hadn't heard the car pull up beside him, hadn't even been aware of rolling back into Inaba. His thoughts had been drifting; he couldn't remember what he'd been thinking about. Souji-in-his-head had been consoling him, maybe.  
  
Steadying himself, he risked a glance at the driver: Souji's uncle, the detective. He let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.  
  
"Yosuke? Is that you?"  
  
"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."  
  
"Where have you been? Your parents are beside themselves!"  
  
 _Oh,_ no! _No, no, no!_  
  
"I--I don't know. I'm sorry. I was just going home."  
  
"I'll give you a lift. One sec." There was a click, as Dojima popped the lock. "Stick your bike in the boot."  
  
Yosuke obeyed mechanically. His arms and legs trembled with the effort of lifting his bicycle. He had to lean on the car, head down, to keep from passing out, after.  
  
"Everything OK?" Dojima had materialised beside him, taking his arm to hold him steady. Yosuke hadn't even heard him get out of the car.  
  
"Yeah, I'm--it's just been a long day."  
  
"Looks like it." Dojima helped him into the car. Yosuke was relieved to be ushered to the front passenger seat, rather than the back, where the criminals went. He guessed he wasn't under arrest.  
  
"So." Dojima settled himself in the driver's seat, took the keys out of the ignition. "Before I take you home, you want to tell me what's going on?"  
  
"Going on, sir?"  
  
"Don't play games. You're a mess. You smell like a toilet. Were you out drinking?"  
  
"No, sir. I just...I don't know. I was upset, and I--I guess I threw up. Can I...can I go home, now? Please?" He found himself on the verge of tears. The stern note in Dojima's voice reminded him of Morooka. Or maybe it just hurt, being in trouble again, being a worry to his parents.  
  
"Were you running away? Your father said you'd had a fight." Now, the detective's tone was gentle. That calm, rational voice spoke up in Yosuke's head.  
  
 _Just tell him. It's okay. This is someone who can help, someone who can make it all go away. You don't even have to look him in the eye. It'll be easiest, here in the dark. Spit it out, like he's not even there. Then, it'll be over with, and things can be safe again._  
  
The words trembled on his lips. "I--I...sir, I.... I've been-- I.... Yes. I was running away. But I changed my mind, and I felt really bad, and I c-couldn't stop crying. I wanted to go home, but...and then I fell asleep, and I'm _sorry_ , and...." He hung his head and wept. He felt hot with shame. Not only had he lied to Dojima, but he was going to have to tell his parents the same lie. They'd think he'd wanted to get _away_ from them, when all he'd wanted was to go home. His mother would cry, and his father would have that _wounded_ look in his eyes, like he'd had that time when Yosuke'd been ten, and he'd lost his temper and screamed "I hate you!" He felt like he'd choke on his tears.

"Hey." Dojima put an awkward hand on his shoulder. "It might seem like it now, but this isn't the end of the world. Your parents, uh--they're not mad at you. Just scared. If something had happened to you.... Well, there's nothing you could do that could make them not want you."  
  
Yosuke gulped and shivered. Dojima's words were meant to be comforting, but each one fell like a lead weight on his heart. This guilt--this was worse than Morooka's stain, worse than anything.  
  
"Yosuke?"  
  
"Yes...sir?"  
  
"Look at me for a second."  
  
He raised his eyes hesitantly.  
  
"Are you sure there's nothing else bothering you? You look like you've been through the wringer."  
  
"I just...." He stopped, sniffed, cleared his throat. "I feel really bad. I'm so _sorry_." That much, at least, was true.  
  
Dojima put the keys back in the ignition. "All right. Let's get you home." He caught Yosuke's eye in the rearview mirror. "But if there ever was something you needed to tell me, my door would be open."  
  
"Thank you, sir."  
  
"My nephew speaks very highly of you. When you feel better, you should drop by the house. He needs a friend, as well."  
  
 _A friend...._ Did he really deserve friends, after what he'd just done to his parents? He'd only do the same thing to Souji, sooner or later. Still, he managed a nod, and even the ghost of a smile.  
  
Dojima left him alone, after that. He was grateful for the silence. He watched the lights of Inaba streaming by, and tried to think of nothing at all.  
  
Later, as he lay on the floor, in the glow of the desk lamp, he heard snippets of conversation drifting up from the living room. His parents were fighting over him again--no, not fighting. Talking, in low, worried voices. He tried not to listen, but with his ear to the floor, he couldn't help but hear.  
  
"...detective said he was sad..."  
  
"...off somewhere and broke down..."  
  
"...bullying?"  
  
"...should never have brought him here! I told you..."  
  
"...expect me to do?"  
  
 _Now_ , they were fighting. He pulled on his headphones, not caring whether he deserved them or not, and let the music fill his head.

*

Yosuke slept a lot, in the week following his ordeal at the riverbank. His throat and stomach hurt, and he felt listless. When he wasn't asleep, he mostly stayed curled up on the floor, listening to his headphones till he got tired enough to return to his dreams. He couldn't eat much, so he was kept home from school.  
  
In the evenings, his parents tried to draw him into conversation. At first, it felt like a series of interrogations, often heartbreaking (What's so bad you can't talk to us about it? How could you feel you had no choice but to leave?). But when that only made him dissolve into floods of tearful apologies, they tried to cheer him up, instead. His mother played videogames with him. His father brought him treats from Junes, and told him silly stories about work. He tried to smile, tried to turn his gratitude into happiness, but their kindness only made him feel worse.  
  
Yukiko came to visit once, with Chie in tow. They brought something they claimed was vanilla pudding. It was orange. He pleaded nausea, and flushed it down the toilet, once they'd gone.  
  
Souji came, too, nearly every afternoon. He seemed content to carry most of the conversation. He chatted about school, and the goings-on about town, keeping it light. When Yosuke got tired, he pulled a blanket over him, and let him sleep.  
  
Once, Yosuke opened his eyes blearily, to find his head cradled in Souji's lap.  
  
"Souji? Did I...did I fall asleep on you, or something?"  
  
Souji looked away, turning a little red. "No; you looked uncomfortable, with your face on the floor, so I...."  
  
"Oh. Okay. Thanks."  
  
He drifted back to sleep, then. When he awoke, his head was on a pillow, and Souji was gone. He wasn't sure he hadn't dreamed the whole thing.  
  
***  
  
He went back to school on a Monday. He still felt a bit shaky, but he'd been keeping food down all weekend. And he couldn't afford much more time off, the way his grades had been bombing.  
  
The morning went smoothly enough. King Moron was late, and when he did appear, he complained of a headache, and cloistered himself behind a newspaper. Souji helped Yosuke study, at lunch, and he felt a little confidence returning. But he couldn't eat any of the potato salad Souji had brought. His eyes felt heavy, and there was a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. When Souji put a comforting arm round his shoulders, he nearly jumped out of his skin.  
  
"Sorry!" Souji looked stricken.  
  
"Oh, fuck! I'm sorry!" Yosuke buried his hands in his hair, tugged at it in his distress. "My mind was wandering, and I wasn't expecting--and...I kind of freaked out, didn't I?" He tried on a lopsided grin, but only managed a sick grimace.  
  
"Yosuke, do you need to go home? You look beat."  
  
"No. No; I can't sit around there forever. It's just a few more hours, right?"  
  
"I guess so. But if you feel bad, don't think twice about it. Just go. You gave us all quite a scare."  
  
"I'm sorry." Yosuke's voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. "Anyway, we should probably get back."  
  
"Yeah...." Souji looked like he wanted to say something else, but he bit his lip and kept quiet.  
  
Morooka was back on form, after lunch. He'd brought slides of famous Western landmarks, and was raving on about how every last one of them had been built to serve some barbaric, obscene, or downright unhygienic purpose. When he had his back to the class, pointing out pornographic symbolism on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, Souji stuck his tongue out at him. Yosuke almost laughed.  
  
He found himself relaxing a little, then a lot. Morooka's carping seemed to be coming from far away. He closed his eyes, just for a moment, then for a longer moment. And then class was _over_ , and he was lying in a patch of grass on the mountainside. The air was warm and fragrant. Far below, the river murmured. He fancied it was saying something, the words too low to make out, but the tone quite benevolent. He could lose himself in the sounds of the river, listen to them till the grass grew over his body. He sighed, and stretched, and--

" _Hanamura!_ "  
  
\--and his eyes flew open, dazed and glassy. Morooka was hanging over him, close enough to _bite_ him. He gasped, uncomprehending. Where was he? How had Morooka got so close? He tried to back away, but there was something behind him, holding him in place.  
  
"No, don't...." His voice was scarcely a whisper. His heart was pounding, and a clammy sweat slicked his palms and neck. There was a wet pattering sound coming from somewhere, a hot feeling between his thighs, and--oh, God, _no!_ He was in class, and he'd fallen asleep, and now he was wetting himself in front of everyone. A small, hurt sound escaped him, as the first horrified giggles broke out.  
  
Morooka looked down. His face screwed itself into an expression that might have been funny under any other circumstances. Yosuke couldn't look at him. He tried to scrunch himself down as small as possible, cheeks flaming with humiliation.  
  
"Hanamura, did you just _piss on my shoes?_ "  
  
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. If he could have chosen death in that moment, he wouldn't have thought twice.  
  
"Idiot. There's a miraculous invention called a toilet. Next time you feel the need to do something like that, _do it there!_ In the meantime, get yourself to the nurse's office, and clean yourself up. You can scrub your seat after school."  
  
Yosuke hung his head. "Sir, I--" His voice was thin and quavery.  
  
"You what? Speak up!"  
  
"...I think I need to go home."  
  
"Go home? What for? You're not sick; you've just pissed yourself. You don't get time off for bad manners."  
  
"No, my stomach, it really hurts." He held himself gingerly; he _was_ cramping up, whether from stress or sickness, he couldn't tell.  
  
"A likely st--"  
  
"Sir!" Souji's voice.  
  
"What now?"  
  
"He really is sick. My uncle said to help him home if he needed, so can we be excused?"  
  
Morooka threw up his hands, in an _I've had it!_ gesture. "Fine. But you're both responsible for today's lesson. I'm putting it on the exam. I'm putting it _especially_ on the exam. I just _got_ these shoes. I oughtta...."  
  
Yosuke let himself be led out to the hall, down the stairs, to the bathroom. He kept his eyes closed, as though he could make all this be a nightmare, if he could feign sleep long enough.  
  
"Do you need to, uh...?" Souji sounded embarrassed, like he couldn't find the right words for this situation.  
  
Yosuke shook his head. "No, I think I--I'm done. Oh, God...." He slumped against the wall, burying his face in his hands.  
  
"Here." He felt something soft being nudged into his arms. "My coat. Tie it round your waist."  
  
"It'll get all...it'll get ruined."  
  
"You think I _care?_ "  
  
"I'm sorry! Sorry, I'll do it; thanks. I didn't mean...."  
  
"Yosuke, what the hell? You've apologised to me about a million times this week, and you haven't even done anything! What's going on with you?"  
  
Yosuke clutched Souji's coat, and said nothing.  
  
"At least open your eyes?"  
  
Yosuke bowed his head.

"Look, I--I'll turn my back, if it helps. I don't need to look at you. Just try and hang on, so we can get you out of here. We can go to my place; it's closer than yours. You can take a shower, sleep all day, anything you want. Just, please...?"  
  
"Can you..."  
  
"What?"  
  
"The coat. I--I just _can't_. Can't open my eyes. Not till I get somewhere safe."  
  
"Somewhere safe?"  
  
"Somewhere _else_. Not here. Please." His voice was rising, thin and panicked.  
  
"Okay. Sure. I can do that." Souji took the coat back from Yosuke. It was already damp with sweat, where he'd been clutching it to his chest. Souji worked quickly, slinging the sleeves round Yosuke's hips, tying them so they hung as much as possible in front of the stain. It wasn't perfect, but it helped. "All right. Put your arm round me, and hang on tight till we get outside. I won't let you bump into anything."  
  
Yosuke did as he was told, holding his stomach with his free arm.  
  
"Still hurts, huh?"  
  
"Not so bad, now. But it's probably a good thing I didn't eat lunch."  
  
"King Moron would be cleaning more than pee off his shoes, eh?" Yosuke heard Souji clap his free hand over his mouth. "Sorry! Shit! That was insensitive."  
  
Yosuke managed a watery chuckle. "No, I...I needed that. If I didn't laugh, I'd...."  
  
"I hear you, there. Careful, you're going to elbow the shoe lockers. Just a little farther. Can you see the light through your eyelids?"  
  
He nodded, knees going weak with relief. The strain of the day overrode pride, and he let himself lean on Souji, as they shuffled out into the light.  
  
In the end, he didn't open his eyes till he was in Souji's bathroom, with the door locked and the shower running. Only then did he admit to himself that the nightmare was _real._

*

Yosuke rubbed his face on the pillow. It felt soft and clean. It had a good smell to it, familiar. Comforting. Funny; he didn't remember getting into bed. He didn't remember pulling a well-used blanket, worn soft and smooth with hundreds of washings, up to his chin, either--and yet, there it was. There were more pillows under his back, propping him up in a half-seated position. He felt warm, dreamlogged; protected, however fleetingly, from the onslaught of reality. He clung to that feeling, drawing the cobwebs of sleep around himself like a second blanket. Waking up, _remembering_ , seemed like a bad idea. Something painful was trying to assert itself, and he fought against it. It had no place here--  
  
\--here?  
  
Where was he?  
  
 _Not my bed! Oh, shit, notmybednotmybednotmybed!_  
  
 _Safe place. Promise. Don't open your eyes. You don't have to face it, not yet. Sleep's still within reach; let yourself sink._  
  
 _Can't! Nightmare; it's a nightmare; it's getting in!_  
  
 _It doesn't have to be. Stay calm. Stay--_  
  
"Yosuke? Hey, ssh! Open your eyes; it's OK!"  
  
That last voice sounded _real._ He sat bolt upright, eyes flying open, to reveal...nothing more threatening than the Dojima living room, and Souji hovering over him, looking concerned.  
  
"Souji? How did I...?--oh, _shit_ , my parents! What time is it?" He threw the blanket off, tried to struggle to his feet, only to succumb to a wave of dizziness.  
  
He must have blacked out, for a moment. When he came to his senses, he was slumped awkwardly on the Dojimas' sofa, with Souji shaking him by the shoulder.  
  
"Hey, don't freak out. We called your dad, remember? He came to get you after your shower, but you were sleeping." Souji smiled crookedly. "He and Dojima made an executive decision not to disturb you. I didn't want you to wake up and panic, so I was keeping an eye on you. Fat lot of use I turned out to be, huh?"  
  
"Thanks, dude. Really." Yosuke felt the panic go out of him, leaving him shaky and drained. He let his eyes flutter closed. The world was in focus, now, but that didn't mean he _wanted_ it to be. He drew a long, unsteady breath. "Souji?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Does my dad know about...about school, today?"  
  
"Sort of. I had to tell him something. I said you got sick in class."  
  
"Thanks. For not...you know." He sighed. "Though, I guess pretty much everyone knows, anyway."  
  
"Hey, it wasn't your fault. You _were_ sick. Besides--" His voice acquired an uncharacteristic note of vehemence. "--if anyone laughs, they're a _jerk_."  
  
Yosuke felt the sofa depress, as Souji came to sit beside him. He half-expected Souji to put an arm around him again, but he didn't. He just sat there, his slow, relaxed breathing projecting an air of calm. Yosuke felt his own racing heartbeat quiet down. He fought off a sudden urge to sag against Souji, like he had that afternoon at the river.  
  
"Yosuke."  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Tell me what's wrong."  
  
"I'm just--I'm...." Yosuke trailed off, bent over to hang his head between his knees. He couldn't lie to Souji, not now, not after he'd walked him all the way here, blind and hysterical, refusing to open his eyes. Souji had been scared, but he'd kept up a constant stream of reassuring chatter. Even when panic had crept into his voice, he hadn't stopped telling Yosuke it was OK, it was nearly over; just a little more. At one point, Yosuke had broken into hysterical laughter, thinking about how much Souji-walking-him-home sounded like Souji-in-his-head, from the other night. The laughter had turned to hiccups, and Souji had rubbed his back, his own hand trembling.  
  
"Souji, if I...if I told you something was wrong, _really_ wrong, but I couldn't tell you what...." He didn't know how to finish that sentence.  
  
"I guess I'd ask if there was anything I could do." He sounded uneasy.  
  
"I'm sorry. I don't want to lie to you. I just... _can't._ "  
  
Souji did put an arm round him, then, but carefully, hesitantly, letting his hand rest on Yosuke's shoulder first, to make sure he wasn't going to panic.

"You don't have to be sorry. I know you're--that is, I don't know exactly what you're going through, but I think...." He tensed against Yosuke, shook his head. "I think I might understand how you feel, at least a little."  
  
 _I hope you don't,_ thought Yosuke. _I hope you have no fucking_ idea.  
  
"If I told you something, could you promise to keep it to yourself?" The sudden vulnerability in Souji's voice was enough to make Yosuke open his eyes. Souji wasn't looking at him. He was staring at the blank TV, the way people do, when they're really seeing something a million miles away.  
  
"Yeah, of course. I promise."  
  
"Okay. Uh, I haven't really--I mean, Dojima knows, from my parents, but I haven't told anyone, so if this sounds stupid...."  
  
Yosuke found Souji's hand, gave it a tentative squeeze. Souji smiled distantly, almost sadly.  
  
"Well, last year, at my old school, a rumour got out about me. Only, it was kind of true. I--there was this guy, Taka, and I thought he was my best friend, so I told him something about myself. He spread it all around, and things got...bad." He paused, rubbed at the bridge of his nose, as though the memory gave him a headache. "One day, I was walking home, and a bunch of guys from the year above mine got me cornered. They were just making fun of me, at first. But it had been going on so long, and I snapped, and I ended up throwing a punch. They...they hurt me. A lot. Cracked ribs, bloody nose; crushed pride."  
  
Yosuke could hardly imagine Souji that way, hurt and broken. He didn't want to. A pained sound must have escaped him, because Souji gave him a sudden, sharp look. "You all right? I don't have to tell you this, if...."  
  
"No, go ahead. It's just, you know, hard picturing you like that."  
  
Souji's gaze wandered back to the TV. "Okay. Ugh, I think I was almost _hoping_ you'd tell me to stop." He tried a laugh, but it came out shaky. "Anyway, a couple of nights later, I decided to get totally ratfaced. My dad had a stash of whiskey, and I must've drunk...fuck, I have no idea. Enough that I don't remember much. But somewhere in there, I decided, uh.... I don't think I was really trying to kill myself, but I took some pills, a lot of them, and.... Well, my parents came home early, and the next thing I knew, I was at the hospital, getting my stomach pumped."  
  
Yosuke gave Souji's hand another squeeze, not knowing what to say. This time, Souji leaned against Yosuke, letting his head rest on his shoulder. Yosuke wasn't sure whether he was looking for comfort, or just trying to hide his face.  
  
"I was in the hospital for two weeks. It was pretty...ha, pretty fucking grim. A lot of the people there were so far gone, like ghosts who were still wearing their skins. How stupid did I feel, spoiled brat who couldn't handle a little...." He made a bitter, choking noise. "When I got out, I tried to go back to school, but I just...every time I thought about the jokes, the whispering, the way people looked at me, I panicked. I finished the year at home. I barely went out, or talked to anyone. When I heard I was coming here, it felt like the first shred of hope...." He laughed again, but it sounded more like a sob. "I told you it was stupid."  
  
"It's not stupid."  
  
"Yeah, it is. I realised it wasn't even everyone else, or what they might think of me, that had me in such a state. It was bad getting beat up, but the worst part was what I thought of myself. I thought everyone was laughing at me because _I_ was ashamed. But it was only a few jerks, and the rest, I built up in my head, till it drove me a bit nuts."  
  
"I think we all do that. I _know_ we do; I mean, with everything that's been going on, lately, we've _seen_ enough of that sort of thing."  
  
"Yeah. I guess we have. I--I wish I'd had you guys, when I faced _my_ shadows."  
  
Cautiously, Yosuke ruffled Souji's hair. When Souji didn't object, he left his hand there, cradling his head. They stayed that way for a while, leaning against one another for comfort.

It was Yosuke who broke the silence, prompted by curiosity. "Souji?"  
  
"Mm?"  
  
"What did you tell him, anyway? About yourself?"  
  
"That I, uh...." Souji sat up, pulled away from Yosuke, to wrap his arms around himself, instead. "It's kind of, ah.... I haven't told anyone else, after...." He looked at the floor.  
  
"I'm sorry. You don't have to. It's not like I've exactly opened up to you."  
  
"Maybe you can, in time?"  
  
"Maybe."  
  
It was several minutes, tense ones, before Souji spoke again. When he did, his voice was quiet and flat. "I told him I'm gay."  
  
" _What?_ "  
  
Souji looked at him with wide, hurt eyes. "I mean, don't think when I was holding you, just then, I was-- Fuck! I know you're not, and I couldn't.... Don't--"  
  
"No, it's not that! I just thought you and Yukiko were kinda...."  
  
"No."  
  
"Hey...." Yosuke scooted over beside Souji, pulled him close. Souji resisted, at first; then, a soft sigh escaped him, and he leaned into the embrace. "It's okay. I didn't mean to spaz out on you. I was just surprised."  
  
"Thanks. I mean, for listening, and...."  
  
"No, it's really-- I actually feel a bit better, now. I...I can't tell you my--I can't tell _anyone_ what's.... But maybe you do know, a little, if that makes any sense."  
  
Souji chuckled. "No, it doesn't. But I get what you mean."  
  
Yosuke had to laugh, as well. The mood lightened, after that, and they ended up playing videogames till they got tired and dozed off, leaning against one another companionably. The last thought to cross Yosuke's mind, before sleep overtook him, was that he couldn't remember _enjoying_ himself like that in far, far too long.

*

On Thursday, Yosuke tried school again. He dragged his feet along the way, hoping to arrive behind everyone else, and slip into class unnoticed. If he could get through the morning, he might--if everything went right, if he stayed under the radar, if he could concentrate on his headphones, and not look at anyone--he _might_ be all right. If he took it moment by moment, stringing one not-so-bad minute after another, he'd _maybe_ get through the hours to come.  
  
Or maybe _everything_ would go wrong. He wouldn't be Yosuke Hanamura, any more, or even the Prince of Junes--he'd just be the guy who'd pissed his pants, and had to be led out of class with his eyes closed. There would be newspapers under his desk, diapers in his shoe locker, and he'd die, just _die_.  
  
By the time he reached the Samegawa flood plain, his stomach was practically in his throat. His insides felt sloshy, liquid, and he needed to--  
  
\--what if it happened again? _Oh, please, please don't let it happen again. Anything but that._  
  
A prickly, nauseated feeling washed over him, and his stomach clenched. He ducked behind a tree, doubled over and rode out the cramps, till he was certain he didn't have to throw up. As he crouched there, afterwards, breathing deeply to smooth out his ruffled composure, a knot of straggling students drifted by. He strained his ears, to make out their conversation.  
  
"Ugh, I _know_ ; so disgusting!"  
  
"And then, there was this HUGE spray of blood, and the stake came out through his mouth, and there were all these guts on it; I couldn't look!"  
  
"How do you know there were all these guts, if you couldn't look?"  
  
"Well, I looked away after that."  
  
"I don't know how you can watch that kind of movie. Hey, you know what else is disgusting?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Hanako's hair. Does she _wash_ it, or what?"  
  
The conversation shifted to hair--in particular, the evils of tea-infused shampoo--and faded into the distance. Yosuke went limp, sagged against the tree. He'd stiffened, when he'd heard " _disgusting_ ", certain they were talking about him. Was that how he saw himself? Maybe Souji was right; maybe it was his own shame that hurt, more than the possibility of further humiliation.  
  
No. He _was_ disgusting. If Morooka hadn't made him that way, he'd certainly finished the job. He pictured himself at the riverbank, shitting behind a bush like an animal, or emptying his guts into the water. Who _did_ things like that? Disgusting people, that's who; desecrated people. Filthy people, who'd think nothing of _spreading_ their defilement, fouling a beautiful place. That was the difference between him and Souji. There wasn't anything wrong with being gay. But being--being _whatever_ it was he'd become, that was another matter entirely.  
  
Strangely, that realisation made him feel better. Or, not _better_ precisely. He felt absent from his own skin, detached. He drifted to school like a cloud, distant, immaterial. There _was_ a diaper in his shoe locker, but he didn't care. He pushed it out onto the floor, and let his feet take him to class. It felt like he was moving mechanically, without any force of will.  
  
Class had already started, when he arrived. All eyes turned to him, but he couldn't feel them. He stood in the doorway, and waited for Morooka to shout at him.  
  
"Ah, Hanamura!" Morooka had a malicious grin on his face. He bent down, retrieved something from beneath his desk. It was a pair of yellow galoshes. "Am I going to need these, today, hmm?"  
  
"No, sir." His voice was low, but perfectly steady.  
  
Morooka looked irritated, probably at his failure to get a reaction. "Fine. Take your seat. And, Hanamura, _do_ try not to doze off. I'm not getting close enough to kiss you awake again, Princess and the Pee." That won him a smattering of giggles, but Yosuke just went to his seat. As the lecture resumed, he stared at his desk, waiting for it to be over.  
  
He wasn't sure how much time had passed, when he felt something pushed into his hand: a folded scrap of paper. Souji had passed him a note. He glanced up, to make sure Morooka wasn't looking, before unfolding it under his desk.

 _King Moron has spinach between his teeth. Hang in, there. :-P_  
  
That made Yosuke smile, and snort laughter through his nose. But that was _bad_ : laughter meant feeling, and feeling meant.... Had Morooka really brought galoshes? He put his head on his desk, shielding his face with his arms. He was going to cry, and not the sort of crying that could be done neatly, or discreetly, behind folded arms.  
  
 _No._ He couldn't. He thought about running out of the room, but that would only draw more attention to his predicament. His eyes were overflowing with huge, messy tears. If he couldn't get himself under control, and quickly....  
  
He bit himself. _Hard_ , on the wrist. It didn't sting enough to serve as much of a distraction, so he turned his head and went for the thin skin on the back of his hand. That helped (and hurt, and was sure to leave a stupid-looking mark), but he wasn't going to be able to hold on forever. He wiped his eyes roughly on his sleeve, sat up, and raised his hand.  
  
"Yes, Hanamura? Got a scintillating insight to share with the class?"  
  
"No, sir. I just wanted to...may I be excused to use the bathroom?"  
  
Somebody snorted, a row or two behind him, and he wilted.  
  
"Ah, he _does_ know what it's for! Why, yes, Hanamura, I'd be most pleased if you did." Morooka held the door open for him, in an exaggerated display of gallantry, prolonging the embarrassing moment as long as possible.  
  
Once free of the classroom, he sprinted for the stairs, nearly tumbling head over heels, in his desperation. A student he didn't recognise passed him, from the opposite direction, and called after him as he ran: "Hey, Hanamura, better run! Don't they have continence pants at Junes?"  
  
He didn't make it. He was in tears by the bottom of the stairs, sobbing raggedly as he fled down the hall. Someone was already in the bathroom, locked in one of the stalls, but it was too late for a change of plans. He darted into the other stall and leaned against the door, knuckles stuffed into his mouth to hold in the sounds of his grief. He didn't just sob; he _wailed_ , robbed of any shred of self-control. It felt like being torn apart. It brought no relief, only a sense of insupportable misery.  
  
He peeled himself away from the door, bent over the toilet and let his breakfast come up. It poured out of him easily, in one long, gurgling heave. The tears slowed, then, brutal sobs turning to sniffles. He spat.  
  
"Everything OK, in there?" The guy from the other stall.  
  
"Yeah. No. Just go away. Please."  
  
"Do you need me to get someone?"  
  
" _No!_ Please leave...thanks, but, please, let me be alone."  
  
"Fine. Jeeze, just asking, man!"  
  
Yosuke flushed the toilet, so he wouldn't have to hear the other guy, if he said anything else. When he was sure he was alone, he let himself crumple to his knees, forehead pressed to the cool porcelain. This was...bad. Really bad. He couldn't say to what extent he'd _made_ himself sick, and to what extent it had just happened, but it hadn't been entirely involuntary.  
  
 _Shouldn't be doing that here. Shouldn't be doing it_ anywhere _, but especially not...away from the river._  
  
It was affecting his health. He'd been going to the river every few days, sometimes even more, for months. It hadn't seemed too damaging, at first, but lately, he'd been getting dizzy, falling asleep at weird times, getting sick even when he didn't want to.  
  
Maybe he could set a limit on it: once a week at the river, and only if he absolutely _had_ to, at school.  
  
 _That's nuts,_ said Souji-in-his-head. _Seriously, enough. You've tried to deal with this on your own, and look what you've done to yourself! Go home. Tell your parents. They won't be mad, and things will get better._  
  
He sniffed, wiped the sweat off his forehead, and went back to class. And somehow, he _did_ get through the day.

*

 _Every day's great, at your Junes!_  
  
"Man, I _hate_ that ad!" Souji pulled a face, turning the volume down on the TV. "No offense."  
  
"None taken. I hate it, too." Yosuke picked at the carpet, embarrassed. Souji was supposed to be at basketball practice, right now. But Yosuke had asked him (no, _begged_ him, hugging himself, eyes to the floor, unable to face being alone)--had begged him to come, and now he was too tired to be much in the way of company. They'd ended up at the Hanamura house, Souji on the couch, Yosuke sprawled on the floor, watching TV.  
  
"Want to hear something funny about that ad?" asked Yosuke.  
  
"Sure."  
  
"Well, you know when the lady with the huge shopping cart runs by, just before the announcer comes on?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Did you ever notice the legs in the background, by the vegetable display?"  
  
"Ha, ha--is that you?"  
  
Yosuke grinned shamefacedly. "Yours truly. I thought I was out of the picture, but there I was, standing around like an idiot. My dad recognised my shoes, and thought I _wanted_ to be in the ad. He's been trying to get me to be in one properly, ever since."  
  
"Nanako would love you forever, if you were."  
  
"Ugh, don't say that when my dad gets home! Don't give him more ammo!"  
  
"Come on, let's hear you sing it. 'Every day's great, at your--'"  
  
Yosuke threw a cushion at Souji, beaning him neatly. "Oh. And that little snippet of information does _not_ leave this room."  
  
Souji tossed the cushion back lightly. "Oh, no? I think Chie and Yukiko would get a kick out of it. I can see it now--Yosuke Hanamura: lover, fighter...department store idol." He waggled his eyebrows.  
  
"Dude! That's creepy! You sound like, whatzisname, Tanaka, with the fucked up home-shopping show."  
  
"Now, that's just mean." Souji faked a pout. "I was going for 'suave film star', not 'weird cable-access guy.'"  
  
"We can't all be cut out for fame and fortune."  
  
"Up yours, _Yosukette_."  
  
This time, Yosuke pummeled Souji with the cushion, bouncing it off his head till he cried uncle. They both ended up on the sofa, trash-talking and tossing the cushion at each other, till their show came back on.  
  
Later, they raided the fridge, settling on leftover Chinese food. Souji seemed hungry, but Yosuke only picked at his. His throat hurt, and it was hard to swallow. His head ached and throbbed. He pushed a piece of bok choy around his plate, as the afternoon's silly mood faded away. Dusk settled, shadowing the corners of the room, and Yosuke's spirits blackened, in turn. Souji was talking, comparing the relative merits of Chinese and Thai food, but Yosuke found it hard to follow even the simple conversation. Things got quiet.  
  
When Yosuke could no longer bear the silence, he spoke, his voice subdued, and a bit croaky. "Souji, can I ask you something weird?"  
  
Souji nodded, mouth full. He chewed and swallowed quickly, and pushed his plate aside. "Yeah, of course."  
  
"What do you do when things are really bad, and you feel like you'll lose it, if you don't distract yourself? I mean, if you've ever felt that way; I don't know."  
  
"Oh. That's a tough one." He raked his hands through his hair, making it stand up foolishly. "It depends, I guess. If it's something I can't bring myself to talk about, well.... Sometimes, I try to lose myself in something completely different. A book, maybe, or a game. Or I eat everything in the fridge, and lie around feeling sorry for myself, for the rest of the night." He chuckled ruefully. "But don't do that. It just makes you feel gross, and the next day, you're in the toilet all morning."

Yosuke winced. Souji must have noticed, as his voice took on a concerned tone. "I'm sorry. I wasn't taking your question lightly. It's just--I'm not sure what kind of bad you're talking about, and what works for me might not do anything for you." He smoothed out his hair, an unconscious gesture. "What makes you happy?"  
  
"Friends, music...listening to the river, maybe. But sometimes, I--" He stared at his plate, stabbing owlishly at the same piece of bok choy. Souji reached over the table and took his chopsticks away.  
  
"I think it's dead, now." He smiled. "What were you going to say?"  
  
"I can't."  
  
"Would it help if you left out the details? Give me a vague idea?"  
  
"I--I don't know. Maybe." Yosuke looked around for his confiscated chopsticks, needing something to do with his hands. They were on Souji's side of the table, so he settled for picking at his shirt, twisting his hands in the hem. "I sometimes want to do things that would be kind of...that might not be good for me." His face was hot, and his heart was pounding, even from that small confession.  
  
"Like what?" Souji's voice was gentle, but he sounded so stricken that Yosuke risked a glance across the table. Immediately, he wished he hadn't. Souji looked like he'd seen a ghost.  
  
"I'm sorry. I can't. It's like I'm all knotted up inside, and I need--I don't even _know_ , just...." He bit his lip hard. "Like now, I want to--I want to--I feel like screaming, or...." He nearly _was_ screaming, fists knotted tight in the hem of his shirt, so rigid he shook. "Don't look at me; don't look at me."  
  
Souji knelt beside him, rubbed his back tentatively. He leaned close, to catch Yosuke's eye. "Hey. This is important. There's something I need you to do. Can you listen?"  
  
Yosuke managed a tight nod.  
  
"If you feel that way again, like you want to do something to yourself, I need you to call me. I don't care if you don't say anything, or if it's the middle of the night; just...at least let me try to help. Please?"  
  
"Souji...."  
  
"I need to hear you say it. Promise you won't do anything, without calling me first."  
  
Yosuke nodded, and closed his eyes tight.  
  
"Yosuke. There's nothing to be embarrassed about. Open your eyes?"  
  
"Can't."  
  
"Is there anything I can do?"  
  
"Could you just...go? I'm sorry. I can't look at you, right now." He shrugged Souji's hand off his back, curling in on himself.  
  
Souji sighed. "Yeah. I can do that."  
  
Yosuke kept his eyes shut till he heard Souji leave. He wanted to call him back, ask him to--what? He couldn't finish that thought. Just _not go_ , not leave him in an empty house. But he held his tongue, and held his position, not daring to move till his parents got home, nearly an hour later.

*

Yosuke clung to the cheap wooden chair as though it were the last timber of a wrecked ship, and he the last survivor. The edge of the seat dug into his chest. The floor hurt his bare knees, imprinting them with the texture of the tile. He felt hot and prickly all over, and yet, he shivered. There was a pile of canvas sheets in the corner of the room, and he imagined himself crawling underneath them, pulling them around himself, sleeping till there was nothing left but a skeleton. Maybe he'd never be found. He'd stay entombed there forever, with the rough fabric still clutched in the bones of his hands.  
  
Something wet and foul was hanging in his face. ( _Don't puke, don't puke, don't puke!_ )  
  
"See how dirty you are?" Morooka's voice was grotesque, a parody of a mother's soothing tones. He tangled his free hand in Yosuke's hair, forcing him to look at the streaked and bedraggled wet-wipe. It smelled like hospitals, and sickness, and shit, and ( _oh, God, don't puke!_ )  
  
"Can't have you showing such a sad little face about town, hmm? Here, let me clean you up. Ssh...relax." He rubbed the dirty wipe under Yosuke's streaming eyes, down his cheeks, over his lips. Yosuke tried not to think about where else it had been. ( _Once he's done with the wet-wipes, he'll go away._ Please, _don't puke._ )  
  
"Here. Hold this." Yosuke opened his mouth, and let Morooka stick the soiled wipe between his teeth. He heard another one being pulled out of the box, felt it slither up his thigh. Morooka's mouth was right by his ear. Yosuke _felt_ his words, as much as heard them, making the skin crawl all the way down his right side.  
  
"Isn't that better? Easy; don't move. Poor little thing; you really ought to take better care of yourself. Do you realise your shit is _yellow?_ "  
  
( _Gonna puke! Oh, fuck, here it comes; come on, swallow, swallow!_ )  
  
Yosuke fought down his gorge, sweat standing out on his skin. He wasn't sure whether his face burned with effort, or with humiliation. Why did Morooka have to _say_ these things, call attention to the most vile, the most degrading--  
  
( _Don't think about it. Hold on. Picture the river...._ )  
  
The wet-wipe felt clammy against Yosuke's lips, as Morooka fingered it into his mouth. He didn't want to swallow, with his mouth thus contaminated. His sour spit soaked through the wipes, and dribbled onto the chair. The feeling was all too _real_ ; it anchored him in the here and now. He couldn't escape, even into his thoughts. So he gripped the chair, and breathed shallowly through his nose. He concentrated on the least of his torments: the pain in his knees, the chair digging a red line into his chest. It was important that he not think too much. If he thought too much, he might puke, and then Morooka would--  
  
( _the chair, the chair, the chair, it hurts; don't puke--the chair, come on; don't puke_ )  
  
"There. Look at you, all fresh and gleaming. Told you I'd take care of you. Here." Yosuke heard the hollow scraping sound of a wastebasket being pulled across the floor. Morooka took him by the hair again, held his head over it. "Spit."  
  
He spat. The wet wipes made an unpleasant, damp noise, as they plopped into the binliner. He spat again and again, ridding himself of the taste. Soon, he could sink into the Samegawa, open his mouth and let the current rush in. Morooka had let go of his hair, and was rubbing his back in slow circles. Yosuke sagged, resting his head on the lip of the wastebasket. He knew he should pull away, but the gentle touch felt nice, and he was too tired to care. He _needed_ this obscene mockery of comfort, sought after it. When Morooka pulled him into his arms, Yosuke let his head loll against his chest.  
  
Later, he'd hate himself for that vulnerability. It was the worst sort of surrender: the surrender of dignity, letting himself be coddled and soothed by the man who'd just defiled him. Not just letting it happen, but _wanting_ it, melting into that unclean embrace.

Yosuke wasn't sure how much time passed in that way, with his face nuzzled against Morooka's shirt, being rocked like a child. One moment, he was enfolded in warmth, nearly drowsing; the next, Morooka was standing up, all business. His knees popped as he straightened. "Clean up the floor, before you go. You made a mess." Then came the rustly sound of his coat being pulled back on, the sharp one of his tie being straightened.  
  
And then, at long last, the door creaked open and shut, and Yosuke was on his own. He shuddered, and pushed the wastebasket as far from himself as it would go. In a minute, he'd get up. He'd put on his clothes, wipe the floor, and leave the scene of his shame. There'd just be time for the river, then home.  
  
The river. Somehow, the idea didn't bring the usual sense of peace. What if things went wrong again? What if he blacked out _in_ the river, this time, and his parents were called to identify his naked body, washed up on the flood plain? Maybe he could just kneel on the bank, splash himself with water. It wouldn't be the same, but...  
  
...but he'd promised Souji he wouldn't. Souji had _made_ him promise. But Souji couldn't have known what he was asking. If he knew, surely he'd say it was okay. He couldn't expect Yosuke to keep all the poison and filth inside himself, where it could burn and fester and rot.  
  
Yosuke got dressed. He wiped the floor with his underpants, and discarded them in the wastebasket. He took the binliner with him, to throw away somewhere else, somewhere it couldn't be traced to him.  
  
Maybe he could make a compromise. He could go to the toilet, and get rid of the poison, there. He was going to puke, whether he forced himself or not. It wouldn't be like he was _doing_ anything to himself. Afterwards, he could wash up as best he could in the sink, then go home for a proper shower. Souji would never have to know anything had happened.  
  
***  
  
"Yosuke? Hey, wake up!"  
  
Someone was shaking his shoulder. He groaned, shifted away. He was propped up against a wall, somewhere chilly and uncomfortable. The bathroom. He must still be in the bathroom. Of course: he'd sat down to rest, just for a moment, and--  
  
"Come on; you can't sleep here."  
  
He cracked his eyes open. They felt gummy and heavy-lidded; he must have been dead to the world. Souji was standing over him, trying on a scared little smile.  
  
"Souji...where'd you come from?"  
  
"I was looking for you. It's Saturday, remember? We were supposed to study together. Anyway, Kou said he thought he saw you come in here." Souji wrinkled his nose. "You smell like the nurse's office. Did you get sick?"  
  
Yosuke nodded.  
  
"Ugh. You look bone-tired. I'll call your dad to take you home."  
  
"He's in Okina. Meetings." Yosuke coughed. "Anyway, I can't leave my bike here. People keep putting toilet paper on it."

Souji rolled his eyes. "Yosuke, have you looked at yourself? Your face is grey. I've seen dead fish more lively than you. You'd fall off and crack your head." He put the back of his hand on Yosuke's forehead, and frowned. "Plus, you're all cold and clammy. I know you might not want to see me right now, but at least let me call someone for you."  
  
"Why would you think I don't want to see you?"  
  
Souji looked uncomfortable. "We haven't really talked, since you told me to go, that night. And you kept running right out after class, so I figured...."  
  
Yosuke sat up carefully, ignoring the objections of his cramped muscles. He wrapped his arms around Souji's knees, hugging him clumsily for a moment, before letting himself fall back against the wall. Even the brief movement had left him dizzy.  
  
Souji sat down beside him, stroked his hair back from his forehead. "Did that mean we're good?"  
  
"Yeah. I just wasn't feeling so hot. I'm sorry you thought...."  
  
"Is there anyone home, at your place?"  
  
"Not till late. Could I maybe...could I wait at yours? I feel kind of, you know, like we were talking about, that night, when I...." He avoided Souji's worried look, examining his hands instead.  
  
"Yeah, of course. I'll just call my uncle." He flipped open his phone and pressed the speed-dial, never taking his eyes off Yosuke.  
  
"Don't look at me like that. It makes me feel naked," he whispered. But Souji was already talking to Dojima, and didn't seem to hear him.  
  
They sat outside, on a sunlit bench, to wait for the detective to arrive. By the time he did, Yosuke was already fast asleep, slumped unwittingly in Souji's arms.

*

Yosuke drifted on a sea of dreams. He was in the food court at Junes, eating noodles and watching the world go by. People passed by in pairs or in groups; laden down with purchases or clearly window-shopping; laughing or frowning. Threads of conversation reached his ears, and he tried to follow the interesting ones.  
  
\--What do you call the fluff from inside a milkweed pod?  
\-- _I don't know. Gossamer, maybe. Why?_  
\--Well, if you see a piece floating by, you're supposed to catch it, and throw it over your shoulder, and say "I wish--"  
  
\--but then the oven stopped working. So I said, dude, hey, the oven's not working.  
\-- _That's nothing. We didn't have any power for a week._  
\--Why do you always do that? Somebody says something; you say something worse. Like, if I said I got robbed, you'd say you got murdered.  
\-- _That doesn't even make sense._  
\--It makes more sense than that time you--  
  
\--so it's _my_ dog, right?  
\-- _How is it your dog, if you didn't buy it?_  
\--I fed it for, like, a month! That must've cost as much as the dog, right there.  
\-- _I really don't--_  
  
\--in Okina, but he's fine, and--hey, Yosuke, could you wake up just a second?  
  
"Huh?" He couldn't seem to open his eyes all the way. Someone was hovering over him, smelling of coffee--Dojima.  
  
"Your dad got into an accident, in Okina. He's fine, but the car's totaled. Your mother went to pick him up, but there was a bunch of paperwork to fill out. They should be back first thing tomorrow."  
  
"Oh...."  
  
"I promised your father I'd keep you out of trouble tonight, so.... Well, it doesn't look like you're going anywhere. Listen, I've been called in to work, but Souji and Nanako are both here, and if you need anything--hey! Are you even awake?"  
  
"...yessir...."  
  
Dojima chuckled. "All right. Go back to sleep. You're looking a bit--"  
  
\--a bit better than the pink ones, but I don't have anything that _matches_ pink, unless you count red, which I don't. So I'd probably never wear them.  
\-- _Who cares? You can never have too many. What if you have an emergency?_  
\--A sock emergency?  
\-- _You think it's funny! But, this one time--_  
  
Yosuke realised he could _see_ the threads of conversation. They hung in the air like streamers of cling film, gleaming for a few moments, then disintegrating as the speakers wandered away. He smiled. They looked beautiful, hanging there. He reached up to touch one, and his fingers passed through, as though it wasn't there. _Or_ , he thought _as though I wasn't there._  
  
And then, he _wasn't_ there. He was wandering the halls of Yasogami High. It was lunchtime, and students were milling about, but nobody spared him a second glance. He picked out Souji, leaning against the wall by the counselor's office, and tried to catch his eye. But Souji looked right through him.  
  
\--Yosuke....  
\--Yeah?  
  
Souji turned away, gazed down the hall, not seeming to hear his response.  
  
\--Yosuke, why'd you have to--  
  
"--to eat? Nanako will be disappointed, if you don't at least try a bite." Souji was crouched down on the floor, next to the sofa. Beyond him, Yosuke could see Nanako sitting at the table, which was spread with enough food for a small army.  
  
"Okay. Maybe a bite." He tried to sit up, but his head spun. Souji put a hand on his shoulder, preventing further efforts.  
  
"No, don't get up. Hey, Nanako?"  
  
Nanako came over, holding a bite of something pinched between her chopsticks. "Open wide!"  
  
Yosuke obeyed. His eyes were already closing again, as Nanako slipped something warm and savoury into his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, and perhaps he mumbled a word of thanks, but he was already...  
  
...on his knees, and Morooka was unfastening his flies.  
  
\--Awfully eager today, aren't you? You want it _that_ badly?  
  
Yosuke shook his head, but when he looked down at himself, he wished the earth would swallow him up. He _didn't_ want it, but his body was betraying him in the most horrid and intimate of ways. He bent over to hide his shame. Someone was crying quietly, breath hitching. No--not someone: him. Morooka was gone. It was quiet, and warm, and--

"--just a dream. You with me, partner?" The warmth he'd felt was real: Souji had pulled him partway into his lap, and was stroking his arm reassuringly. "Maybe you'd better stay awake for a while, hmm?"  
  
"Maybe.... I feel weird."  
  
"Weird, like you're sick?"  
  
"No. I don't know. Just...weird. Like everything's really far away. I had this dream where you couldn't see me, and one where I could see people's conversations, like they were floating in the air. It was kind of cool."  
  
Souji arched an eyebrow. "That _is_ weird. Did you see anything juicy?"  
  
"Something about pink socks...."  
  
"You'd look pretty stupid in pink socks."  
  
"So would you." Yosuke smiled at the thought. "Hey, Souji?"  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"Did my dad get into an accident? I thought your uncle said that, but I don't know if I was awake, or...."  
  
"Yeah. But he's fine; just the car got wrecked. He's coming to get you tomorrow."  
  
"Oh. That's scary. Did he say how it happened?"  
  
"Not really. Just that the other driver was all over the road, and your dad couldn't avoid him. But he sounded fine on the phone. He was more worried about you."  
  
"About me.... Souji?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Can I hold your hand?"  
  
Yosuke felt Souji's steady breathing stop, just for a moment. His skin prickled with embarrassment. Maybe this was a dream, too. ( _Oh,_ please, _be a dream!_ ) He'd never be able to face Souji again, if--  
  
"Uh, I...yeah, sure." Souji's warm, dry hand twined with his. He clung to it, pulling it close to his chest. Souji shifted, but didn't pull away.  
  
"Yosuke, do you...." His voice was strained.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Do you _like_ me, or something?"  
  
"Dude! _No!_ I mean, maybe. Or...if I said 'yeah,' what would you do?" He could feel Souji's heart racing--or perhaps, it was his own.  
  
"I'd wait till you weren't feeling 'weird,' and ask you again. You're really out of it, right now." Souji laughed nervously. "I'm not sure you even realise you're awake."  
  
"I thought I was, just now. Nanako gave me a bite of dinner."  
  
"That was hours ago. It's nearly midnight. Do you think you can get back to sleep?"  
  
"Stay with me?"  
  
"For a while. Close your eyes."  
  
He did. At first, he thought sleep would be a long time coming, but--  
  
\--he was back at Junes. It was night. There was something on the floor, something thin and crinkly, that crackled when he walked on it. He knelt down, dug his hands into it. There were layers and layers of it, stretching out across the tiles. But when he tried to lift it up to examine it more closely, it turned to ashes in his hands, and blew away.  
  
 _The remains of weighty conversations, which drifted to the ground, instead of dissipating on the breeze?_  
  
The thought was just absurd enough to make him laugh.

It seemed only an instant had passed, before he felt the early morning sun on his face. He opened his eyes. Souji was gone--no, not gone: curled up on the floor, fast asleep. Yosuke felt a twinge of guilt. Souji must've been there all night, in case Yosuke needed him. Worrying, no doubt. Even in sleep, his brow was furrowed, his lips drawn into a slight frown.  
  
Yosuke shifted uncomfortably. He'd dreamed of Souji, he thought: _strange_ dreams. Or maybe not dreams, at all. He felt a little feverish. Everything looked very sharp, but not quite real. He was thirsty, hungry, and nauseous, all at once. This feeling was becoming all too familiar. Maybe he'd close his eyes just a little longer. Things would seem clearer, if he could just--  
  
"Hey, Yosuke, you alive?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
Souji was standing by the sofa. The room was bright, almost noon-bright.  
  
"Your dad's here. Think you can get to the car OK?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just...I must've been really tired." He tried on a sheepish grin. It almost fit.  
  
"You look a bit better, now." Souji sounded oddly hesitant.  
  
"Thanks. I feel better, I think. Is something the matter?"  
  
"No. Well...no. You'd better hurry, though. Your dad's been out there a while. I couldn't wake you up, at first."  
  
Yosuke unfolded himself from the sofa. He felt stiff and achy, but the nausea had faded, and the room didn't spin when he straightened up. "Thanks for, you know, looking after me, and--"  
  
"Look, I'm sorry." Souji had turned away, and was scuffing the floor with his toe.  
  
"Sorry? What for?"  
  
"Last night. What I said. I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking."  
  
Yosuke opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a knock at the door. Souji hurried to answer it, face carefully averted. He seemed almost _glad_ of the interruption. As Yosuke shrugged into his coat, he heard Souji and his father talking, in low voices:  
  
 _"Yeah, sorry; he was fast asleep."  
"He's been like that a lot, lately. Thanks for looking out for him. See you for dinner, one day soon?"  
"Yes, sir; thank you...."_  
  
Yosuke tried to catch Souji's eye, as he followed his father out the door, but Souji let his hair hang in his face, shielding his gaze.  
  
He felt fretful and sick, on the way home. He wished Souji would at least have looked at him. He got his phone out of his pocket, flipped it open, and closed it again. He had no idea what he intended to say--or if Souji would pick up, at all. If only Souji would call _him._ The thought of facing the future without his friend and ally filled him with dread.

*

It was a pleasant morning, warm and breezy, with a clear blue sky. The hum of insects was heavy in the air, and the scents of grass and flowers and river-mud drifted in the open windows. Last year, a day like this would've filled Yosuke with excitement. He might even have skipped class, pushed his bike to the top of the highest hill in town, only to come bombing down at top speed. He'd have put _The Ride of the Valkyries_ on his headphones, at top volume, and laughed in the face of death (or, at least, in the face of skinned knees and a bumped head).  
  
But not today. Not today, and maybe not ever again. Instead, he slumped over as far as he could in his seat, cradling his aching stomach. He was sweating lightly, and there was a bad taste in his mouth, like he'd gone to sleep without brushing his teeth. Morooka was working his way down the rows, handing back assignments. With each paper, he dispensed an acid comment.  
  
"Furukawa--for the first time in my long, long career, I'm confronted with a student who can't spell his own name. And that was the _high_ point. Hanamura--up to your usual standard: _bog_ -standard. Seta--disappointing. My office, today at lunch. Terada...."  
  
Yosuke felt the contents of his stomach turn to ice-water. Morooka wanted _Souji_ in his office? Souji was an excellent student. What if he wanted to...what if-- What other explanation could there be? _What if Souji had really needed to study on Saturday, when he'd helped Yosuke, instead?_ \--that would make it _his_ fault, if anything happened. He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, feeling sick.  
  
"--asked you a question!" Morooka was looking right at him.  
  
"Me?"  
  
"No, the little monkey on your shoulder. Of course, you. Photosynthesis: what is it?"  
  
"Uh...putting one person's head on another person's body, like in Photoshop, or something?" Yosuke gave a ridiculous answer on purpose, hoping Morooka would forget about Souji, and summon him to his office, instead. But he only sneered nastily, and moved on with the lesson.  
  
Yosuke tore a piece of paper out of his notebook, and scribbled two words across it: _Don't go!_ He folded it up, and hesitated. Souji would want to know why, and what pretext could he give? Surely, there was something he could do. Maybe if he thought about the smell of Morooka's wet-wipes till he threw up on the floor, Souji would take him home, instead. Or maybe, he wouldn't. He'd looked away, when Yosuke had tried to catch his eye before class.  
  
Unfolding the note, he tore off the _Don't go!_ part, and wrote _Can we talk, later?_ instead. He refolded it, and passed it forward.  
  
Souji slipped it back almost immediately: _On the roof, after Moron's done yelling at me?_  
  
Yosuke stared at the paper for a long moment, then added a single line: _Cool. Don't let King Moron push you around._ He hoped that would be warning enough. Warning enough--that was a laugh! What use would his warning be, when Morooka was...and Souji was--  
  
He pressed the note into Souji's hand, shaking his head to clear it of the unpleasant possibilities.  
  
"...and when Seta and Hanamura are done exchanging love notes, perhaps we can move on to the Krebs cycle?"  
  
And that was _perfect._ Another stroke of embarrassment, to add to the strangeness between them. Yosuke saw Souji flinch, and felt oddly hurt.  
  
***

In the end, Yosuke couldn't wait for Souji on the roof. He found himself lingering outside Morooka's office, taut as a violin string. Several times, he raised his hand to knock, only to yank it back, as though stung. His heart leapt to his throat, and he couldn't, just _couldn't_. He hated himself. How many times had he been in that very office, wishing, praying for someone to interrupt? How many times?--and no-one ever had. He raised his hand again, shivered sickly, let it drop. It was taking so long. They must've been in there fifteen, twenty minutes, already.  
  
He checked his watch. ( _Five minutes; five, at the most, if they came straight here, after class. Calm down._ )  
  
Was that a noise, from behind the door? He thought he'd heard something--the scrape of a chair? Morooka getting up, looming over Souji, raking a spidery hand through his hair? Yosuke strained his ears, in vain. Someone was banging around near the shoe lockers, and laughter floated from the girls' bathroom. The muffled sounds of (horror, pain, shame, desperation) Morooka's office were lost in the general din.  
  
"Augh! Don't!"  
  
Yosuke nearly screamed, at the sharp cry. But it hadn't come from the office. It had come from a classroom, farther down the hall, and now--  
  
"Come on, give it back!"  
  
"Uh-uh; not till you say the magic word."  
  
"Asshole!"  
  
"Hmm, not that one; I think I might have to keep it forever. Ooh, feisty!"  
  
\--and now, even more students were spilling out, and he couldn't hear a _thing_ , over the commotion. If he didn't knock now, Morooka could do anything, and no-one would hear; no-one would come. ( _Just do it. Do it fast, before you've a chance to think about it. One...two..._ three...!) This time, he didn't even raise his hand. Some friend he'd turned out to be, standing here like a statue, while--  
  
The door opened. Souji strolled out, smiled when he saw Yosuke. "Hey! Ready to head to the roof?"  
  
"Yeah. How'd it go with King Moron?"  
  
"Ugh! He's so creepy! I think I need a shower, after that."  
  
Yosuke stopped in his tracks. He felt the world crack under his feet. In a moment, he'd fall through, and be lost forever in space. He forced himself to speak. "What did he do?"  
  
"Do? Oh, nothing, really. He just tried to rub my shoulders; said I was too stressed. So, I jumped up, like 'No, that's okay,' and he was all 'Fine, suit yourself.' And then I left." Souji brushed imaginary dirt off his shoulders. "Gross, huh?"  
  
The world crumbled and fell away. Souji had walked out, just _got up and left the room_ , and Morooka hadn't stopped him. That meant--that meant Yosuke could've done the same. Maybe he _had_ wanted it, all along, just like Morooka said. He'd asked for it with his stillness, his silence. All those times, when his body had responded to Morooka's touch, when he'd lain in the man's arms afterwards, it hadn't been a betrayal of himself, but his _real_ feelings, sick and spoiled, bubbling up to the surface. And now, it was too late. Now that Morooka knew he wanted it, there was no escape. Yosuke was trapped by his own contamination. He should have drowned himself in the river, that very first time.  
  
"Yeah. That's pretty nauseating." Somehow, he was talking, responding to Souji, as though the universe wasn't in flames all around him. At some point, he'd started walking again.  
  
"Apart from that, it wasn't so bad. He told me to stop chasing skirts and start chasing perfection, and maybe cut my hair, while I'm at it." He grimaced. "And I have to redo the assignment."  
  
"Sorry about that. I kind of used up your Saturday."  
  
"Hm? Oh, no, it wasn't that. I was going to do it on Sunday, anyway. But Nanako was down in the dumps, with Dojima working the whole weekend. So we made a day of it, at Junes."

Yosuke heard himself respond, something about Junes being a funny place for a day out. Souji was laughing, stepping out onto the roof. It was bright, with the noonday sun overhead, and he thought it was hot. But it was strange; he couldn't _feel_ a thing. He heard the hiss of his breath, the rush of his blood, the click in his throat, as he swallowed hard. The distant cry of a bird seemed loud as a siren. Everything was collapsing in on him, and he was going to faint, or puke, maybe both.  
  
Then, Souji's arm was around him, guiding him to rest against the low wall bordering the roof. The world swam back into focus: painful, full of sharp edges, but _there._  
  
"You OK? You went pale as a sheet!"  
  
"Didn't get much sleep, last night. Guess the stairs wore me out." He tried to laugh, and nearly gagged.  
  
"You're really tense. Try and relax your muscles."  
  
"I can't. Maybe I need Morooka to--" Now, he really _was_ gagging, and Souji was rubbing his back. He choked and spat.  
  
"Don't gross yourself out; that's the last thing you need. Take a deep breath, and count to five. Now, let it out; let the tension go. Three...four...five--and again."  
  
"Souji...are you mad at me?"  
  
"Does it look like I'm mad at you?" Souji made a silly face, sticking out his tongue.  
  
"No."  
  
"Actually...." Souji paused, looked around nervously. "I thought you might be upset with me, after Saturday night. I wanted to call, but--"  
  
"So did I. I was afraid you wouldn't pick up."  
  
"I would have."  
  
Yosuke felt the strain ebb out of him. His teeth chattered, as the shakes set in. He felt like he'd just emerged from the chill of the Samegawa.  
  
Souji looked alarmed. "What's wrong? Are you cold? It must be thirty degrees, out here!"  
  
"No. Just relieved." He laughed, and didn't gag, this time. "I guess the tension was holding me together."  
  
"That can't be good." Souji took off his coat, and draped it over Yosuke's shoulders. When the shivers only grew more violent, he gathered Yosuke into his arms, held him carefully till the constant shuddering had given way to the occasional tremor.  
  
Yosuke closed his eyes. He felt giddy and strange. It was nice, being held by Souji. Nice, and--  
  
"If...if I said maybe I _did_ like you, now...."  
  
Souji pulled back quickly. He cast another nervous glance round the deserted rooftop, before regarding Yosuke with serious eyes. "I'd ask you, 'How weird do you feel?'"  
  
Yosuke laughed, not without a trace of hysteria. "Pretty weird."  
  
"I guess I'd...." He leaned in quickly, gave Yosuke a birdlike peck on the cheek. "Sorry! Sorry--is that...?" Souji was looking at the ground, red as a beet. "I've never really...."  
  
"Yeah. Neither have I." Except, he _had_ , and more, so _very_ much more. The creeping realisation filled him with dismay, and suddenly, he was on the verge of tears. He took Souji's hand, and squeezed it tight. Should he say something? Did he have to? He didn't want to think about it. He just wanted to stay here, far away from Morooka, and let Souji fill his head with reassuring words.  
  
But the sounds of laughter and gossip were drifting up from the stairwell: students filing back to class. Yosuke nudged Souji, reluctantly. "We're going to be late."  
  
"Hm? Oh! Yeah! We should--"  
  
They didn't talk on their way back to class, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence.

*

Yosuke sat by the river. It was a beautiful evening. The sun and the moon both rode the horizon, reminding Yosuke of a fairy tale he'd once heard: that of a cursed prince and princess, condemned to meet only in a time that was neither day nor night. He wore a robe of stars; she, a crown of sunbeams, and they crossed paths where the sea meets the sky. After a thousand years, the curse was lifted, and they fell into each other's arms. But the passage of time had turned love to hate, and they poisoned each other with their first ardent kiss.  
  
Yosuke let his fingers brush his own lips. Poisoned. He'd contaminated Souji with a kiss, and now--  
  
(but Souji had kissed _him_ , not....)  
  
\--and now they were both in hell. Had he not seen, in Souji's red-rimmed eyes, the reflection of his own?  
  
But it wasn't time to think of that, yet. The sun was still up. He wanted to live in the bright spots, while there was still light. A lost little smile lit up his face.  
  
***  
  
"I can't believe you're wearing that. Dude, I'm embarrassed, just sitting with you."  
  
"Why wouldn't I? Nanako made it for me." Souji grinned and struck a pose, attracting even more attention. Everyone in the food court was staring at them; Yosuke was sure of it.  
  
"It looks so...."  
  
"So _what?_ "  
  
"So...man, there are no words for how you look right now." But Yosuke's frown was twitching, threatening to turn into a smile.  
  
Souji took off the flower chain, and hung it round Yosuke's neck, instead.  
  
***  
  
"What are you listening to, anyway?" Souji eyed Yosuke's headphones.  
  
"Wait, _that's_ what you've been thinking about, all this time? Everyone thinks you're buried in deep thoughts, brooding on the mysteries of life and death, when you go all quiet, like that. Wait till I tell 'em--"  
  
"Stop avoiding the question."  
  
"Fine; here." He settled the headphones over Souji's ears, watched his expression cycle through disbelief, puzzlement, amusement.  
  
"Cantonese opera?"  
  
"I wanted to have one truly unique interest."  
  
"Seriously?"  
  
"Nah. I had that on there since International Week, at my old school. I just queued it up to see the expression on your face."  
  
Souji kicked him under the table.  
  
***  
  
"After you leave, next spring--"  
  
"Don't think about that, now."  
  
"What am I supposed to think about?"  
  
"The day I come back?"  
  
"You'd better mean that." Yosuke favoured Souji with a playful glare, which wasn't really playful at all.  
  
***  
  
The sun was sinking, now. A chill had come into the air. Yosuke pulled on his jacket, then his coat over that. It was a woolen coat, long and heavy, too warm for this time of year. Its weight felt comforting. He dug his phone out of his pocket, and dialed by the last of the sunlight. His hand wasn't steady, and he got two wrong numbers, before Souji came on the line. There was laughter in his voice, which was strange, because--  
  
"Hello? Is anyone there?"  
  
Yosuke laid his cheek against the phone. His smile trembled and died.  
  
"Is this...Yosuke?"  
  
Souji's voice was comforting. Yosuke hoped he wouldn't hang up.  
  
"Yosuke? You're scaring me. That _is_ you, right? I can hear river birds in the background."  
  
He closed his eyes. He could still see the ghost of the Samegawa, bright with the embers of sunset. A quiet sniffle escaped him.  
  
"Say something! Please? Yosuke? At least tell me where you are!"  
  
"I'm...."  
  
"Where?"  
  
"I'm sorry." Yosuke hardly recognised his own voice. It sounded grey, like it had a layer of dust on it.  
  
"Sorry? What for? Why don't you come over? We're having dinner...and my uncle cooked, so I might need moral support." Souji's strained tone belied the lightness of his words.  
  
"Souji.... I know about...."  
  
"About what?"  
  
"What happened to you, today. I _know._ It was my fault. I just wanted you to know how sorry I--"  
  
"Wait-- _what_ happened to me?" Souji did "confused" very well, but--  
  
***  
  
\--but it _wasn't_ a dream. No matter how many times he blinked, the tableau didn't change. Souji was standing there, eyes red with tears, and round with shock. And moments earlier, he'd run out of Morooka's office, and there was only _one_ explanation, and--  
  
"Yosuke?" The word came out small and uncertain.  
  
Yosuke fled.  
  
***

"You don't have to pretend, Souji. I tried to, and now it's...." He choked back a sob. "Just tell your uncle, before it gets any worse. Promise me."  
  
"Tell him what, Yosuke? I have no idea what you--"  
  
" _Don't lie to me!_ "  
  
"I swear, I--"  
  
"Souji, _please!_ You made me promise you, that time. Do the same for me."  
  
"I'd like to, but...." There was a sigh, on the other end of the line. Yosuke pictured Souji massaging the bridge of his nose, as though to ward off an incipient headache. The mental image gave him a twinge of nostalgia. He might never--  
  
"Could you spell it out for me? What do I tell my uncle?"  
  
"About Morooka."  
  
"King Moron? I don't--"  
  
"Yes, you do. Souji, I can't, any more. I have to go. It's getting dark, and...just promise me."  
  
"Okay, I promise, but what--"  
  
"Goodbye, Souji. Thanks for everything."  
  
"Wait! Yosu--"  
  
Yosuke hung up. His phone started ringing almost immediately, but he slipped it into his pocket and ignored it. The river looked clean and inviting. He waded in fully clothed, not even pausing to kick off his shoes. It reminded him of the first time he'd come here. But this time, the chill didn't shock him. If anything, it seemed to welcome him. The current caressed him through his clothes. It was a harsh caress, but a familiar one. He sank into it, letting the cramps bite into his muscles.  
  
His coat grew heavy, threatened to draw him under. He had to paddle with his hands, to keep afloat. The sun had disappeared, while he was talking to Souji, and the sky glittered with stars. But he couldn't identify a single constellation. One more regret, he supposed.  
  
( _Idiot! What are you doing? Making Souji promise to save himself, then leaving him, in his moment of need? There's time to go back, to forget all of this._ )  
  
He stilled the movement of his hands, allowing himself to sink. The water rushed up his nose, and instinct brought him struggling back to the surface. He'd have to wait till his limbs froze and got heavy, and he could no longer fight the current. He let his eyes close almost all the way. The water on his eyelashes interfered with his view of the sky, turning the stars to indistinct smudges, the moon to a drifting cloud.  
  
( _Go back. What will your parents think, when you're...?_ )  
  
He turned over on his stomach, paddled for the bank. But he'd been swept out to the middle of the river, where the current ran deep and strong. His coat and jacket weighed him down. He tried to push them off, but the wool of his coat had swelled with the water, battening it tight to his arms. His shoes were stuck, too. He scraped them against his legs, but couldn't muster much force.  
  
( _No, no--too late! What have you done? Too late!_ )  
  
Maybe he could float downstream on his back, all the way to the flood plain. If he could get that far, the water would be shallow enough to stand in. He turned over again, and sank almost immediately. His arms were numb and weak, and the water closed over his face. He kicked for the surface, or thought he did. The water was black. It was hard to tell which way was--  
  
( _drowning, drowning, drowning_ )  
  
\--he gasped and flailed, with water in his eyes, nose, and ears. But there was air in his mouth, and he--  
  
( _scream for help!_ )  
  
\--breathed water, panicked, fought off a tangle of duckweed, which turned out to be his coat--  
  
( _...dying!_ )  
  
\--but he was _breathing_ , somehow, choking out a ragged scream. He and the Samegawa reached a fragile equilibrium, and he was floating, again. No--not floating. Standing. Standing at the water's edge, phone ringing incessantly. Picturing himself _dying_ , smothered by the waters that had once--  
  
"I can't...."  
  
He let himself fall to his knees, then to his side, curling up in the sand. He didn't cry, this time. He felt tired, more than sad. Eventually, he'd have to go home, or someone would come and find him. He'd come up with another explanation (another lie), and....  
  
There was a loud banging sound: a car door being slammed shut? He opened his eyes. Had he slept? Was he still dreaming? There wasn't a road, here, only a cycle path. There couldn't be a--  
  
"Yosuke! Hey! _Yosuke!_ Don't move!"

He raised his head. He could hear running footsteps in the grass. Dojima's footsteps. Dojima was shouting at him.  
  
"What the hell's the matter with you? Calling my nephew, scaring him half to death--what the...?" Dojima yanked Yosuke to his feet by the lapels. Yosuke wasn't surprised, but he screamed anyway. His hands flew without intention or control, batted at Dojima's arms. He kicked at nothing, his struggles growing more frantic when they failed to have any effect. His screams turned to gasps, then to sobs. He thrashed in Dojima's grasp.  
  
"Yosuke, what in the _world?_ Get a grip on yourself!"  
  
"Just let _go!_ Stop it!" He swatted at Dojima, leaving a scratch on his chin. And then, he was reeling, face stinging. Dojima had slapped him. He backed away, breathing hard.  
  
"Calm down. I'm not here to hurt you, but I will restrain you, if you keep fighting."  
  
"Don't...please."  
  
"Stay calm, and I won't. Come on. Sit with me in the car. I'm not going to bite." Dojima had been edging closer to Yosuke, as he talked. Now, he put a firm hand on his arm, guiding him away from the river. Yosuke allowed himself to be led, oddly reminded of the time he hadn't been able to open his eyes, and Souji had helped him home. The memory was comforting, and he wrapped himself in it. Dojima was saying something, but he'd lose the memory if he concentrated on that. He let the words wash over him without meaning.  
  
In the car, Yosuke pulled his knees up to his chest. There was junk in the seatwell, and piled up on the dashboard: discarded coffee cups, maps, food wrappers. The space seemed to close in around him, leaving him trapped and overwhelmed. Dojima looked as uncomfortable as he felt, playing absently with his keyring.  
  
"Listen...about Souji. I know you're close but...how much has he told you about his life before Inaba? No, don't answer that. Just listen. Oh, hell. He might seem confident, but he's had a rough go of it, and you can't just--hey! Try and calm down. I need you to listen to this."  
  
Yosuke wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, and tried to control his breathing.  
  
"Good. I'm not trying to make you feel bad--or, worse than you already do, obviously. But I think you need to hear this. My sister, Souji's mother, went through a terrible time with him, last year. He was miserable, but no matter how she begged and pleaded, he wouldn't say what was wrong. By the time the truth came out, it was nearly too late. They almost lost him. I don't think even he knows how close he came to...."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"Don't be. Souji's all right, now. He struggles, but he knows he's got people he can come to. I'm sure you do, as well--but they can't help, if you won't open up." Dojima's tone was soft, conversational. "I think there's something you need to tell me."  
  
Yosuke tried to sink into the folds of his coat. He wished he could disappear.  
  
"Souji mentioned your teacher, Mr. Morooka. Is that a good place to start?"  
  
"I...maybe."  
  
"Then, we'll go from there. I'm going to need a 'yes' or 'no' to this next question, OK?"  
  
Yosuke managed a nod. He felt like he really _was_ drowning. Only, this time, he'd been swept into a violent whirlpool. He was being dragged into a watery abyss, and struggling would only prolong his agony. He took one last look at the nameless stars, and gave up the fight.  
  
"Has this Morooka hurt you, in any way?"  
  
"...Yes."  
  
"Has he hurt you physically?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Can you tell me what happened?"  
  
"I...oh, God!" Yosuke fought for composure. He turned as far from Dojima as he could, fixed his eyes on the darkness of the river. That was a little better. He drew a deep breath, and pretended he was alone, confessing his pain to the Samegawa.  
  
"He...the first time was right after I got here. There was so much to do, and by the second or third day, I was really tired. I--I guess I fell asleep in class. He got really mad, and made me stay after school. It...wasn't so bad, that time. He rubbed my shoulders. I didn't want him to, but I thought.... I didn't want to get in more trouble, when I'd just started, and he already _hated_ me. I know I should've run out, right then, but--"

"Don't blame yourself. Just concentrate on what happened." Yosuke risked a glance at Dojima, and was relieved to see he wasn't looking at him.  
  
"All right. I'll try. I--oh, please, I can't do this. I'm...."  
  
"You're doing fine. Take your time."  
  
"Well.... Once he'd done with my shoulders, he said I had to rub him, too. But when I put my hands on his shoulders, he.... He said, 'not there,' and he...he had his flies open, and.... It only got worse, after that, a little bit every time, till.... I didn't know people _did_ things that dirty--not just sex, but _things_ , weird things--I _can't...._ But afterwards, he'd hold me, and I--I _liked_ that, and he said that meant I wanted it. And maybe I did. I don't know. I'm sorry, so sorry. I'd have said something, if I'd known...."  
  
"Known what?"  
  
"That he'd...he'd...do those things to Souji, too!"  
  
" _What?_ " Before he could blink or flinch, Dojima had him by the arms, fingers digging in with bruising force. Yosuke felt his bladder loosen, and narrowly avoided another accident.  
  
"I--I...."  
  
"When? How long have you known about this?"  
  
"Today! Just today! This afternoon. I saw him come out of Mr. Morooka's office, and he was crying, and I know it's my fault, I _know...._ "  
  
But Dojima was laughing--not an amused laugh, but a brittle, relieved one. He let Yosuke go, and he sagged against the car door, gasping for breath. "So, _that's_ why you.... Oh, Yosuke. No. Morooka found some note Souji had written, calling him 'King Moron.' He called him into his office, and threatened to expel him. He can't really do that, of course, but Souji had no idea. He got upset and ran out, and that's when you must've seen him."  
  
"Then, he didn't...he's not...?"  
  
"No. Absolutely not. He wasn't too happy when he came home, but he calmed right down when I told him he couldn't get expelled for a rude note. There's no way he'd just been--ugh. Look, I'm sorry I scared you, just now."  
  
Yosuke hiccuped. "It's okay. I deserved it, for...." He risked a glance at Dojima, desperately hopeful. "Can I...can I maybe go home, now?" (And sleep, and forget it all-- _please._ )  
  
Dojima sighed. "I'd like to say yes. But after what you've just told me, there's...I can't just.... I need to take you to the hospital to get checked out, and then you'll have to give a full statement. I'll call your parents, and they can be there with you, but you're going to have to keep your chin up a little longer."  
  
Yosuke tried to be brave, but the tears squeezed out even when he closed his eyes. Dojima tried to reassure him, but this time, he was inconsolable. Twice, on the way to the hospital, Dojima had to pull over to let him be sick. He had to be carried inside, sobbing and half-delirious with panic. He wanted his bedroom, his parents, the comfort of the familiar. It seemed so _unfair_ : he'd faced the unthinkable, confessed his shame, and the horror went on and on. What if there was a trial? Everyone would _know,_ and--  
  
\--and the lights were hurting his eyes, and he was throwing up on Dojima's shirt--  
  
\--and his lips were dry, and someone was feeding him ice chips--  
  
\--and it was dark, and quiet, and he was sinking, and....

*

Yosuke was spared the indignity of a clear memory of his medical exam. At some point, waiting for his parents to arrive, he'd begun to scream. He hadn't been able to stop without heavy sedation, and everything after that tore into indistinct fragments. He felt like he'd gone to sleep with the TV on, and some strange, unpleasant show was weaving itself into his dreams.  
  
He remembered Dojima arguing with a nurse, and his mother arguing with Dojima. His father was looking down at him from a great height, as though he were a thousand feet tall. He smoothed Yosuke's hair from his brow with long, rubbery arms. Yosuke giggled, but the sound frightened him, and he started to cry. Then, there was the snap of rubber gloves, and a strange voice telling him it would all be over soon. He tried to scream again, but it seemed like too much effort. Something was hurting, and he tried to squirm away. But it just kept right on hurting, and soon, he gave up.  
  
There wasn't much, after that, not till morning. He'd woken up painfully lucid, and aching all over. A strange policeman had been waiting to take his statement. He'd become hysterical: he wanted Dojima; he wanted his parents; he'd already _told_ the detective what had happened--why did he have to relive it all, again? It wasn't fair. He'd sobbed, and begged, and been overcome with agonising dry heaves. He'd squeezed his eyes shut, and lost the power of speech. But he hadn't been allowed to go back to sleep till he'd written down everything he could remember, and signed his name to it.  
  
Then, there were more gloved hands, another injection, and the fuzzy TV-dream came back. It was a relief, at first, then a _horror_ , with spiders bursting forth from his mouth. They wove webs in his eyes and nose, stung his joints till they swelled with venom, burrowed under his skin. He started screaming again, but the sound of his own voice hurt him. He tried to thrash, and found himself restrained. More spiders were coming up his throat, _choking_ him, and--  
  
\-- _his airway; I've got the airway!  
\--reacting to the--  
\--milligrams of--_  
  
\--and he felt a jab, and a squeezing in his chest, and everything went grey.  
  
Dojima was hovering over one of the orange visitors' chairs, consoling a tearstained Souji. Yosuke wanted to say something, to tell Souji he was all right, but his voice wouldn't obey. Souji stood up so fast he nearly knocked over his chair, and ran out of the room.  
  
He blinked, and his mother was there, bumping a spoon against his lower lip, trying to make him eat something red and squidgy. He opened his mouth, to make her happy. But her smile was sad.  
  
Then, both his parents were there, talking to a doctor with a serious face. It felt like the conversation was important, so he tried to concentrate on it.  
  
"...results have come back, and unfortunately...positive for hepatitis B."  
  
"--prove where that came from? Can they use this to put that monster away?"  
  
"Who cares about him? What if Yosuke...."  
  
"...fatal? Very unlikely, especially--"  
  
"--he's awake! Yosuke, honey, did you...."  
  
...and then it was Souji, again, holding a shoddy-looking chain of origami flowers.  
  
"Nanako made this for you--she wanted it to be real ones, but as you can't have them, in here.... Man...Yosuke, I was so.... When I saw you, that next morning, your face--it looked like someone'd punched you in both eyes, and they said it was burst blood vessels, from screaming...oh, Yosuke, why didn't I realise?"  
  
Souji looked at the ceiling, fighting back tears. "Yosuke...when are you going to wake up?"  
  
He tried to respond that he _was_ awake, but maybe he wasn't. His voice wouldn't obey him, and when he blinked, the morning light had turned to twilight.

Gradually, his periods of lucidity became longer, and he began to piece together the events of the last...days? Weeks? He couldn't be sure, and he was afraid to ask. He'd wanted to go home, cried to be let go, but a severe intestinal infection had kept him in the hospital. He was having trouble fighting it off, thanks to dehydration, malnutrition, and hepatitis B--Morooka's _real_ poison. An antibiotic allergy had sent him into shock, stopped his heart, and in his weakened condition, he nearly hadn't pulled through. No-one would give him a straight answer, when he asked if he was going to be all right. The best he got was " _Things will get better,_ " and a tepid assertion that the hepatitis _might_ go away, in time.  
  
He recoiled whenever anyone got too close, afraid of passing on the poison. Even constant reassurances that he didn't have anything transmissible by touch didn't help. Once, he let Souji hold his hand through the blanket, but it made him so anxious he nearly threw up.  
  
***  
  
When Yosuke came home, all the TVs had been removed from the house. Morooka was all over the news.  
  
"I don't want _that man_ in the house," his mother spat. But, for all her vehemence, Morooka found his way in, via Yosuke's dreams.  
  
***  
  
The first Sunday after Yosuke got out, he and Souji escaped to the river, fishing rods slung over their shoulders. Yosuke hadn't wanted to go, at first, but now he was here, it wasn't so bad. In fact, it was pretty nice. The day was warm, if a little cloudy. People drifted by, absorbed in their own lives and conversations, not paying the boys any heed.  
  
"Hey, Yosuke?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
Souji was giving him an impish grin. "Last time I was here, I caught a catfish, and she was _this_ big." He flung his arms wide. "And you wanna know what else?"  
  
"What else?"  
  
"Her whiskers were so long, I'm using one for my fishing line, right now."  
  
Yosuke considered this, for a moment. "Well, last time _I_ was here, I caught a dogfish, and you wanna know how big _he_ was?"  
  
"How big?"  
  
Yosuke stretched out an arm and a leg, to indicate the distance between hand and foot. " _This_ big, and he ate your catfish."  
  
Souji hung his head in mock dismay. "Oh; poor Mother Catfish! Who's going to feed her children, now?"  
  
"You, if I push you in." Yosuke mimed a shove, but pulled back at the last moment, to avoid touching Souji. Souji laughed, but the sound was forced. He had noticed.  
  
They walked home as the shadows began to grow long, each carrying a basket of fish. The Samegawa had not yielded any river-monsters, but there was plenty for dinner. It had been a good day, for the most part. Yosuke couldn't decide whether it had felt like the start of a better life, or the calm before the storm.

*

"I feel stupid." Yosuke hid his face in his hands, even though Souji couldn't see him.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Why do you think? I'm talking to you through the door of a bathroom stall, for, what's this, the third time this week?"  
  
"Would it help if I stuck my head under the door?"  
  
"Funny...." He wiped at his nose with a piece of toilet paper, so Souji wouldn't hear him sniffling.  
  
"Sorry. What happened?"  
  
"Nothing. More of the same. I was by the shoe lockers, and some of those guys from the basketball club were on the other side. I guess they didn't see me, and.... Well, they were talking about going out, after school. One of them said he had to study, and his friend...." He gulped, brushed at his eyes. "He was all 'Why study? Just pull a Hanamura-- _Sorry, was that due today? King Moron was touching my naughty parts, and I couldn't concentrate!_ ' Everyone knows...."  
  
"Let's get out of here." Souji's voice was thick and rough.  
  
"I--I'm not sure I'm ready to go to class, yet. But you go ahead, if--"  
  
"No, not that. Let's ditch. Let's go to Okina."  
  
"Seriously?"  
  
"Yeah. I mean, it's really--fuck, I'm in awe of you, coming back to school, putting your life back together the way you are, but.... Ugh. I don't know how to say this so it doesn't sound like I'm putting you down. I'm not saying you can't do this, or you can't handle the jerks. Just...you deserve to leave it all behind, once in a while."  
  
Yosuke was surprised to find himself laughing. "You sound so _earnest_ , when you talk like that."  
  
Souji made an embarrassed noise. "So...do you want to?"  
  
"Yeah. Yeah, I do. Just give me a second, while I pull myself together."  
  
***  
  
At first, the trip to Okina seemed like a mistake. The train was noisy and crowded, and two stops outside Inaba, a man got on smelling like fermented fish. He plopped down right behind Souji, with a sigh of satisfaction. Souji looked a little dismayed, but Yosuke felt himself starting to panic. The noise and the crowd were overwhelming, and the smell was making him nauseous. Soon, he'd get motion sick, and ruin everything. Worse still, he thought he might cry, or even scream. He put his head down, and concentrated on keeping his stomach under control.  
  
Something landed in his lap. He sat up with a start, composure fraying dangerously. But it was just a wadded up piece of paper. He smoothed it out, and read:  
  
 _HOLY SHIT! We're SO getting off at the next stop!_  
  
He looked up. Souji smiled and winked. The panic receded, a little. He even managed to smile back. At the next stop, they staggered off the train, beating imaginary stench-clouds out of their clothes.  
  
"What the _hell?_ That was--"  
  
"I know! When that guy sat down behind you, I thought I was gonna...."  
  
"Me, too! Five more minutes, and my breakfast would've been on your shoes!"  
  
"At least you didn't have to look at him! I could see him over your shoulder, and he was scratching himself the _whole time!_ "  
  
"Ew, ew, shut up! I probably have his fleas, now...."  
  
The next train was better. They shared it with a pair of old ladies, and a man who kept checking his watch.  
  
***

By the time they reached Okina, Yosuke was tired, and a little lightheaded. But nothing hurt, and the fresh air felt good on his face. Souji seemed content to let him set the pace, as they drifted about the city. Yosuke couldn't help but relax. It felt _different_ here: no-one was staring at him, and the sense of foreboding that had hung over him almost constantly for the last several months seemed first to lighten, then to vanish, like fog at dawn.  
  
They found a weird little shop, full of books and comics and magazines in foreign languages. Yosuke recognised English, and something he thought might be French, but most of the scripts might as well have been penned by Martians. They stood with their heads bent together, self-consciousness forgotten, trying to work out the stories by looking at the pictures.  
  
"Oh, this one's a sappy romance. No doubt about it." Souji affected an authoritative tone.  
  
"How'd you figure?"  
  
"This guy here, with the feather in his hand, is _clearly_ pining over the woman in the long dress. He's about to pour all his passion into a letter, which will make her rush home from darkest, uh, Canada--on foot, mind you!--to _throw_ herself into his arms, and then he's going to tickle her with the feather."  
  
"No way. That's a man in a trenchcoat, not a woman in a long dress. And the feather in his hand is a clue. It's a mystery, and he's the killer. And it's not dark in Canada."  
  
"It is, if you're near the North Pole, and it's winter."  
  
"Smartass."  
  
***  
  
The bookshop was good. The cafe they stopped at for lunch was not. Yosuke stared at the menu, feeling dirty and ill.  
  
"Not hungry?"  
  
"It's not that. I just--" ( _can't eat this; it's all fatty, and I'm sick, now, full of contamination--fucking_ poisoned _, and what if it_ never _goes away?_ ) "I just, uh...I'm just craving something lighter."  
  
"Yeah, we'd eat here once, and qualify as sumo wrestlers." Souji stuck out his tongue. "We'll go somewhere else."  
  
Later, Yosuke found himself singing a duet with Souji in a karaoke bar--or, not so much singing as watching in frank astonishment, as Souji threw his heart and soul into the song. He wasn't a particularly good singer, but his clear enjoyment was infectious. Somehow, his mediocre performance earned them both free drinks.  
  
***  
  
They had the train mostly to themselves, on the way home. Only a sleeping man, slumped in his seat at the opposite end of the car, accompanied them to Inaba.  
  
Souji looked drowsy, as well. His eyelids drooped, and he kept trying to rest his head on Yosuke's shoulder. Yosuke edged away as discreetly as he could, but the seats were narrow. Soon, he found himself with nowhere to go.  
  
"Souji, hey...."  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"You're on my side."  
  
"'S okay. You're warm."  
  
Yosuke elbowed him away. "Come on; you've got to sit up."  
  
Souji obeyed, blinking owlishly. "Yosuke?"  
  
"It's not _safe_ , all right? Just...stay on your side." The words came out harsher than he'd intended, and Souji jerked back, abashed.  
  
"Sorry. I thought, after the bookshop, earlier...."  
  
"The bookshop?"  
  
"You had your shoulder against mine practically the whole time. Thought you knew."  
  
"Oh, _God!_ I'm so sorry. Did you wash your hands, before lunch?"  
  
"Yeah, but.... Yosuke, you can't give me--"  
  
"Just don't come over here." He shrank against the window, as though Souji might jump into his lap at any moment.  
  
"I won't." Souji's voice trembled.  
  
"It's not that I don't want to...."  
  
Souji made a muffled noise, and averted his eyes. Yosuke realised he was trying to keep from making the situation worse with tears. He turned back to the window, to give him some privacy.  
  
It wasn't till the lights of Inaba were visible in the distance that Yosuke spoke again. The silence had soon gone from painful to awkward, and now it didn't have much feel to it, at all. Souji had been still for some time, and Yosuke wasn't sure he was even awake. He spoke softly, without much forethought.

"...Souji?"  
  
Souji stirred. "Mm? Time to get off?"  
  
"No, not yet. Just wanted to ask you something."  
  
"'M not mad at you."  
  
"Not that."  
  
"Gimme a sec." Souji sat up, rubbed his eyes. He stretched out his legs, and groaned as his joints crackled. "Okay. What's up?"  
  
Yosuke kept his eyes on Inaba's distant glow. "This is probably the worst time to ask, but...how do you feel about me? I mean, not right now, this second, but in general?" At first, he thought Souji wasn't going to answer. It took long enough between question and response that Yosuke was startled, when Souji spoke up.  
  
"You...really want to know?"  
  
"That might depend on the answer. If you secretly hate me, maybe you could just...pretend to fall asleep again, or something." Yosuke tried to keep his tone light, but didn't quite pull it off.  
  
"I don't. I really--I mean, I've _always_...." He cleared his throat. "I've always liked you, Yosuke. The first time I talked to you, you looked at me like we were already friends. It had been a while since anyone...well, I guess it left an impression." He smiled, a little sadly. "I realised I had, you know, feelings for you, after a couple of weeks. But at first, I was afraid of how you'd react. So I told myself I was just lonely, and you probably weren't even into guys, and then...there was something about you. You seemed so sad, so hurt, like you had the weight of the world on your shoulders. Which, of course, you did. I--I didn't want to take advantage of you. I still don't."  
  
"I wish I could do this...." Yosuke stretched out his hand, let it hover in the air, about an inch from Souji's cheek. He mimed a caress. Souji shivered, and closed his eyes.  
  
"Yosuke...."  
  
"Don't move." He carefully lowered his hand, till it nearly brushed Souji's lips. He could feel Souji's breath, fast and nervous.  
  
The train shook in its tracks. It was a slight movement, barely perceptible, but enough to make Yosuke snatch his hand back, panicking. "Sorry! I can't! Not now."  
  
"It's...I understand. I can wait, or, even if you never--"  
  
A querulous voice piped up, from the other end of the car. "Ugh! You ladies are driving me crazy, with your little love affair! Where do you think you are, your state-room on the Orient Express? Why, in my day, we...."  
  
"Oh, my God," Yosuke mouthed, feeling his cheeks flame red.  
  
But Souji didn't see him. He was already doubled over, shoulders shaking with laughter.

*

Yosuke sat at his usual table by the window, stirring a cup of coffee he was never going to drink. The cafe had a quiet, subdued atmosphere. Most of the patrons were nurses coming off long shifts, or people visiting loved ones at the hospital. Yosuke found the strained atmosphere reassuring: if his self-control were to slip, and a tear or two dared escape, no-one would notice his quiet grief, amidst so damn _much_ of it.  
  
There was a tap on the window. He didn't need to look up, to know it was Souji. At first, it had been his parents who'd come to get him from therapy, twice a week. Souji had started joining them, after a while, and now he came alone. But this...this would be the last time.  
  
Blinking harshly, Yosuke raised his eyes. Souji was smiling at him, features made indistinct by the rippled glass. He had one hand raised to the window, fingertips pressed to the cool surface. Yosuke mirrored the gesture, pressing his own palm flat against Souji's. The illusion of touch was fragile; it was difficult to ignore the clammy feeling of condensation on skin. Still, they held the familiar position, savouring that almost-closeness. (For the last time, the very last--and what was he to do, next week, when no-one appeared on the other side of the window?)  
  
Souji kept his hand pressed to the glass till it was warmed through. It was the closest Yosuke could come to _feeling_ him, or anyone.  
  
All too soon, the moment was over, and Souji was heading inside, taking a seat across from him. He kicked his book bag under the table, as he sat down.  
  
"How are you holding up?"  
  
"I don't know. Kind of drained, I guess." He poured cream into his coffee and stirred it in, just to see it swirl and vanish. "I thought...." He let the words die on his lips.  
  
Souji didn't say anything. He slid his hand across the table, stopping just short of Yosuke's fingertips. Yosuke felt a sudden, irrational stab of anger. Why did Souji have to be so _gentle_ , so understanding, when he was just going to _leave?_  
  
"I thought things would be better, by now." He kept his tone carefully controlled, barely more than a murmur. "Winter's over; Morooka's fucking _dead_ , and I still--" A tremor had crept into his voice. Yosuke stopped talking, waited for the comforting post-therapy emptiness to come back. "I still think about him, dream about him. I still wake up, and want to make myself puke till I can't feel him any more, and sometimes, I _do_...."  
  
Souji flinched. Yosuke glared at him, daring him to say anything. He didn't.  
  
"I'm sorry. It's not.... I'm not--most days aren't like that. It's just...won't it ever be over? _Really_ over?"  
  
"Oh, Yosuke...."  
  
"Was it ever really over for you, the shit you went through? No--don't say it was! I can see it on your face, when you look at the hospital; I see you thinking about when you were--" Yosuke shut up, ashamed. Cruel--he was being cruel, and for what? It wasn't Souji's fault the past wouldn't die on command.  
  
Souji looked down at the table. "Not yet. One day, I'm sure--"  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"I guess I don't."  
  
"You're leaving in two days, and I won't be able to kiss you goodbye. Fuck, I won't even shake your hand. Everyone will be hugging you, getting that last little moment of warmth, and I'll just be _standing_ there, and your last memory of me will be a glimpse over your uncle's shoulder, or...."  
  
"You talk like you're never going to see me again."  
  
"What if I don't? People fall out of touch; it happens all the time. We'll hardly be off the phone, for the first week or two. But then, there'll be a couple of days when it's just e-mails. And then there'll be more and more days like that, and e-mails will become texts, and then there'll come a day when I don't hear back from you at all, and I'll know...."  
  
" _No...._ "  
  
"That's what everyone says, when the wounds are all fresh and raw. But you can't pick the scabs forever. There'll come a day when it's less painful not thinking about me. And you'll fight it, that first time, but the next time, you'll let it happen. It'll be easier, then--and the time after that, you'll hardly notice."

"Where are you getting this _shit?_ "  
  
Yosuke's eyes flew open, in surprise: this was the first time he'd heard Souji angry with him, not just frustrated, but truly furious.  
  
"You think, after all this time, everything we've been through, we're going to act like a couple of idiots trying to turn their holiday fling into a long-distance relationship? Is that what _you're_ going to do? Or do you just think so little of me?" Souji surged to his feet, with none of his usual grace. His knee knocked the table, and Yosuke's coffee spilled. "I thought--I...." He spun on his heel and bolted from the cafe, forgetting his bag in his haste.  
  
Yosuke hurried after him, calling his name, but Souji never turned around. He stumbled across the pavement, and onto an Inaba-bound bus. Yosuke ran beside the bus for as long as he could, shouting frantically, but Souji had his arms folded on the back of the seat in front of him, his face buried in the crook of his elbow. If he heard Yosuke's cries, he gave no indication.  
  
***  
  
Souji was gone.  
  
Their farewells had been strained. They hadn't spoken at all, the night of the argument, and the day after--Souji's last in Inaba--time had been short. They'd sat in the food court at Junes, and talked about the times they'd never forget. But it had felt like small-talk. After only an hour, Souji had checked his watch, and said he had to go. He'd looked like he wanted to say something else, but Yosuke had spat a bitter " _Fine!_ " in his face, and left him alone at the table.  
  
At the train station, the next day, it had gone exactly as Yosuke had feared: he'd stood on the periphery of the group, stiff and awkward, while everyone else had lavished Souji with affection. He'd caught the dreaded quick glimpse over Dojima's shoulder--Souji had mouthed something at him, but it had been too quick to decipher--and then Souji had turned his back, vanished onto the train.  
  
Now, Yosuke found himself at his old refuge by the Samegawa, watching the spring's crop of red algae blooming on the surface. He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd never see Souji again, that he'd blown it, once and for all. It had been three days, already. There hadn't been any phone calls, or even an e-mail: just a few sad little texts, spaced hours apart, like Souji was busy with something else.  
  
\--r u still mad? inaba sucks without you.  
 _\--no, not mad. did u eat today?_  
\--not hungry yet. ur parents happy to see u?  
 _\--yeah...get something 2 eat, ok?_  
\--i'll get something at work. what r u doing?  
\--u there?  
  
But Souji _wasn't_ there--or, if he was, he didn't feel like talking. Yosuke lay down on the riverbank, and drew his knees up to his chest.  
  
 _Souji.... Where are you?_  
  
But only the river answered, murmuring in its strange and watery language.

*

The food court was a shell of its daytime self. After everyone had gone home, and most of the lights had been turned out, the place took on the air of a building long-abandoned. Drifts of litter rustled underfoot. Moonlight streamed through the tall windows, picking out every crack and imperfection in the cheap tables and chairs. Yosuke worked his way down the aisles, pushing a dustbin on a cart. He stopped at each table, dustpan in hand, to sweep straw skins and fast-food wrappers out from underneath. But his mind wasn't on the debris of the day. As he bent to the task, he kept his phone tucked between shoulder and cheek.  
  
"I'm starting to forget your face, a little."  
  
"--always be.... --osuke? ...a little lon--"  
  
"And I can't _hear_ you. Bad connection, again. I feel like I'm talking to your ghost."  
  
"...you. Yosuke?"  
  
"It's no use." He nudged a stray chair under its table. "Where are you, anyway? Souji...where are you? Souji? Souji!"  
  
"Is this better?"  
  
Yosuke dropped the phone. It clattered into the bin. He stood stock-still, hardly daring to breathe. Souji sounded like he was _right behind him._  
  
"Yosuke. Turn around."  
  
"I can't."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because if I do, and you're not there, I'll...." But he found himself turning, anyway. He closed his eyes, to shut out the inevitable disappointment of the deserted room.  
  
 _Yosuke...I'll always be...._  
  
His eyes flew open. He was in his bedroom, curled up on the floor. At some point, he must have crawled out of bed, and into the glow of the reading lamp. He still found it comforting, on his worst nights.  
  
"Souji...where are you?" He glanced at the clock over his desk: two in the morning. Souji would be asleep. Yosuke tried to picture him that way, relaxed and vulnerable, and realised he couldn't. But it wasn't that he'd forgotten Souji's face. It was that he was picturing him _wrong._ Though Yosuke had watched Souji sleep on many occasions, he'd never seen him let down his guard completely. Even at rest, his features would set themselves in a serious expression, or sometimes a worried one.  
  
He patted his hand along the top of his desk, till he found his phone. He missed Souji fiercely. Perhaps, just this once, it wouldn't hurt to wake him up.  
  
Unless--what if he _was_ sleeping peacefully, tonight? What if it had been Inaba, and missing his parents, and (perhaps most of all) Yosuke himself, that had marked him with tension, even in repose? A sudden, vivid image sprang to mind: Souji, riding the train back to the city, falling asleep, the lines of strain finally, fully, unknitting from his brow.  
  
That was stupid, right?  
  
Maybe Souji was awake, too, wanting to call Yosuke, not knowing what to say. He remembered the last time things had been weird between them, the night he'd held Souji's hand, and said maybe he cared a little more than he was ready to admit.  
  
Souji had wanted to call, that time. But this was different. Yosuke had taken the worst time of Souji's life, and thrown it in his face. He'd lashed out in a moment of self-pity, and it was too late to take it back. Some things _couldn't_ be taken back, or smoothed over, or explained away. He wouldn't blame Souji, if he wasn't in the mood to talk.  
  
But, if he didn't even _try...._  
  
He flipped open his phone and dialed quickly, before he could change his mind. The call was picked up almost immediately.  
  
"Hello?" The voice on the other end sounded subdued.  
  
"Souji?"  
  
"Is that--?" There was a quiet gasping sound. "Yosuke, is that you?"  
  
"Yeah...you all right?"  
  
"No. I--I mean, yeah." A soft, but definite sniffle. "I was just.... I'm glad you called. It's been hard, coming back here, facing up to everything, everyone. I couldn't sleep, and then I thought about you, how you always...you always...." Souji's words trailed off into a series of hitching, unsteady breaths.  
  
"Souji, about what I said to you, before you left, I--"  
  
"Can we not talk about it? Just for now, can we--can you talk to me like I never...like nothing's changed, and you're going to see me in the morning?"

"That depends. Can I copy your homework?"  
  
"H...huh?"  
  
"When I see you in the morning. Can I peek at your paper, before class? I wanna see what you put for question nine."  
  
Yosuke wasn't sure whether Souji was laughing or sobbing, on the other end. He pressed on, hoping he wasn't making things worse.  
  
"We'll go fishing, after school. Look for that giant catfish you're always talking about. I think I saw it splashing around, up by the waterfall--though, that might just have been Kanji. Or, if it's raining, there's the food court, or--hey, are you OK?"  
  
"I...I want...." Souji made a high, desperate whining sound. When he was able to speak again, it was little more than a whisper. "I want to go home."  
  
"Home? You mean, here?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Maybe if you talked to your parents, they'd--"  
  
"I can't. They're so happy, having me back. I didn't think they were ever going to let me go to bed, my first night. They wanted to know everything I'd been up to, kept telling me how much they'd missed me. How are they going to feel, if I tell them I'd rather be somewhere else?" There was a note of hopelessness in his voice, which made Yosuke's heart sink.  
  
"What can I do?"  
  
"Help me pretend.... Talk to me like you're holding me; promise you'll still be there, when I wake up."  
  
"Souji, I--"  
  
" _Please._ "  
  
"I...I'm here. I won't leave you. Is this what you--?"  
  
"...please...." Yosuke had never heard Souji sound so miserable. Had he felt this way, that last time at the cafe? Yosuke had been so wrapped up in his own turmoil, it hadn't occurred to him that Souji might be just as despondent.  
  
"Close your eyes; I won't let go. I'll stay tonight, every other night, whatever makes it better."  
  
"Say you promise."  
  
"Don't make me lie to you."  
  
"I need to hear it. I don't care if it's not true."  
  
"...I promise." Yosuke felt like the words would choke him.  
  
"Don't hang up. My battery's going to die, but...stay with me till then? You don't have to say anything. I just want to hear you there, while I go to sleep."  
  
Yosuke stayed on the line. He felt self-conscious, being on the phone and not saying anything, so he mumbled promises and reassurances till he heard the connection go dead. He couldn't help but wonder how many times Souji had wanted, even _needed_ , the comfort of touch, and held it inside, for Yosuke's sake. Only when such a comfort was no longer within reach had he let his pain show.  
  
Guilt soured Yosuke's stomach. He switched off the desk lamp, and lay on the floor in the dark. He thought about Souji, alone in a familiar-but-strange city, clutching his dead phone. Yosuke hoped he really _had_ gone to sleep. The thought of him sick on bitter tears was too much to bear.  
  
***  
  
Yosuke called again the next night, to find Souji embarrassed but composed, and wanting the latest news of Inaba.  
  
"I saw your uncle, yesterday afternoon," Yosuke told him, when he'd run out of school gossip and updates on the goings-on at Junes.  
  
"Oh.... How did he look?"  
  
"Red in the face. Kind of funny. He was chasing somebody's dog, that was rampaging through the shopping district. He looked good, though."  
  
"I'm glad. Hey, Yosuke?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"What are you wearing?"  
  
Yosuke sputtered. "What the...?"  
  
"Sorry. I wanted to hear you laugh."  
  
"You idiot!" But Yosuke _was_ laughing, muffling the sound with his hand, to avoid waking the household.  
  
He nearly missed Souji's wistful murmur: "Though, I do wish I could see how you look, right now."  
  
***

They spoke most nights, after that. Some of their conversations were playful; others were serious, or sad; shy, or intimate. Nearly always, they were coloured by a note of melancholy. Souji didn't cry himself to sleep again, but there were times when he was quiet and withdrawn, and only cheered up when Yosuke described the events of his day. When it was Yosuke who needed cheering, Souji played the patient listener, or read to him till he went to sleep.  
  
One night, after a long and convoluted discussion on the best sort of music to mend a tattered mood, Souji's tone turned contemplative.  
  
"Not being able to see you, I've said things to you, things I.... I mean, I might not have been able to, face to face."  
  
"Does that mean you won't be able to look me in the eye, next time we meet?"  
  
Souji chuckled. "After all the weird things I've heard you do, over the phone, I should think that'd be the other way around."  
  
"Dude! Shut up! Anyway, you were the one who--"  
  
"Just kidding. Yosuke, I--"  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"--I miss you, most."  
  
"Was that really what you were going to say?"  
  
"Maybe not. Yosuke...?"  
  
"What, now?"  
  
"I'll see you soon. Somehow."

*

Souji returned to Inaba on a Sunday. Yosuke rode with Dojima, to greet him. It was just the two of them, driving out of Inaba alone, as Souji had wanted to avoid a fuss at the station. Yosuke felt panicky, getting into the car with Dojima. The last ride he'd taken with the detective had ended at the hospital. The memory of nausea fluttered in his throat, when he slid into the passenger's side, and recognised some of the junk on the dashboard as the same junk he'd memorised that night, as he'd avoided Dojima's eye. The leather, oil, and fast food smell was even worse: it lent immediacy to the disturbing memory.  
  
His stomach lurched with the motion of the car. He'd lain awake through the night, playing out all the ways he might greet Souji, in his head. Now that the hour was at hand, he was more unsure than ever. He felt anxious, off balance--a feeling which only intensified, when Dojima suggested he roll down the window, if he felt carsick.  
  
 _("Hey, are you--"  
  
"Oh God, quick, pull over! I'm--ugh...s-stop...."  
  
Dojima swung to the side of the road just in time for Yosuke to throw open the door and empty his guts onto the gravel. Only his seat belt kept him from falling out of the car. He hung there, belt pinching his stomach, forcing heave after heave from his body, till Dojima pulled him back into the car.)_  
  
"Don't think about it."  
  
"Huh?" Yosuke jumped a little.  
  
"Last time you were in this car--don't think about it. You and Souji are going fishing later, right?"  
  
"Yeah. He's got a feud with some catfish the size of a bike."  
  
"Catfish, eh? He's got quite the imagination." Dojima rolled down his own window. "But he's certainly picked a nice day to come back. Seems summer stuck around a little longer, just for him."  
  
"He'll probably take it with him, when he goes."  
  
"When he--" The car went over a pothole, cutting Dojima off mid-sentence. "Damn! I hate that. I know it's there. I remind myself not to go over it, but _every_ time...."  
  
 _("--every time you try. It's a little better today, isn't it?" Souji pulled the blanket up around Yosuke's shoulders. Yosuke nearly managed to stay still, but Souji's fingers brushed his collar, too close to his neck. He flinched away, avoiding both the touch and the question.)_  
  
"You're a million miles away, aren't you?" Dojima nosed the car into a narrow parking spot. "Quit worrying. He's going to be happy to see you."  
  
Yosuke managed a tight little nod. He realised he was trembling. The here and now seemed thin, a fragile layer of ice over the black lake of the past. That unbalanced feeling was back. He closed his eyes, to steady himself, and only grew dizzy.  
  
"Come on; you're just getting yourself all worked up." Dojima's words were abrupt, but his tone wasn't unkind. Yosuke opened the door, and--  
  
 _(--tried to move, but every time he moved his head, the world swam out of focus. He felt raw all over, and--)_  
  
\--and got out of the car. He drew in a long gulp of fresh air. Better. A certain queasiness still roosted in his gut, but he no longer felt like he was going to toss breakfast. He followed Dojima into the station with something very like eagerness. Very like eagerness, indeed.  
  
And then, he saw Souji, and the thin ice broke. He was remembering everything at once: Souji kissing him on the rooftop, Souji helping him crack the books, Souji crying, laughing, sleeping, extending his hand, to touch Yosuke through the glass. He swayed on his feet.  
  
Souji was smiling, now, a small, shy smile. He was putting down his bags, reaching out tentatively, inviting Yosuke to take his hand.  
  
"I feel weird," Yosuke told him.  
  
"That's because you _are_ weird."  
  
Yosuke let his hand find Souji's, just for a moment, a brush of the fingertips. Souji's shy smile widened into a delighted grin.  
  
***

Evening was pleasant, on the Samegawa. The heat and humidity of the day had mellowed into a balmy warmth, sharpened with the chilly smell of the river. Late insects hummed, unseen. Yosuke sat on the bank, barefoot. Souji was beside him, and a little behind--close enough that, if Yosuke merely relaxed, let his shoulders sag and his back bow, he'd nearly be lying in Souji's arms.  
  
"I've needed this," said Souji. Yosuke thought he sounded relieved.  
  
"I was wondering about that."  
  
"Hm? About what?"  
  
"Just how badly you needed to get away. There isn't a holiday. You must be missing school, to be here."  
  
"No."  
  
"You mean...you haven't been going?" Yosuke lay down in the sand, so he could look at Souji without craning his neck.  
  
"No, I have. But I...I'm not going back."  
  
Yosuke stopped breathing.  
  
"This isn't getting _away_ , Yosuke. I've come home."  
  
"Your parents...?"  
  
"It was their idea." Souji looked away from Yosuke, fixed his eyes on the first stars of night. "When I asked if I could visit for a while, I thought they were going to say no. They got all serious, said we needed to talk. My grades haven't been so good; I guess my heart hasn't been in it--and I thought they were going to yell at me, for that."  
  
"Was it my fault?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Your grades. Because we were talking all night, when you should've been studying."  
  
"Oh. No. There was time for both. It was me; I couldn't concentrate. Anyway, they knew about that, too--about us talking; about how badly I missed all this. I guess the walls were pretty thin; they must've.... Well, they made it easy for me. They didn't make me choose. The night we had our talk, they'd already arranged everything with my uncle. They said I should be happy." Souji's voice trembled.  
  
"You don't sound happy."  
  
"I am. I just...I feel bad. I didn't want them to know I wanted this so badly. It hurt them. But, even knowing that, I couldn't bring myself to say no."  
  
Yosuke sat up slowly. Without letting himself think too much, he rested his chin on Souji's shoulder, slid his arms around his waist. Souji gasped, then stilled, as though afraid to frighten Yosuke away. Yosuke _was_ frightened: his heart raced, and he could hear his blood rushing in his ears. But he didn't flinch or draw away, even when Souji allowed himself to relax. Only when Souji turned his head slightly, to let his cheek brush Yosuke's, did he turn his face away.  
  
"Yosuke.... You don't have to do that."  
  
"Yes, I do. It's not safe to get so close. I'd want to kiss you, and--"  
  
"You could."  
  
"No, I--"  
  
"Yosuke." Souji pulled away, looking uncomfortable. "There's something I've.... I need to tell you something."  
  
"Oh, God! You're already sick!"  
  
"No. Not that." Souji wouldn't meet Yosuke's eye. He fidgeted with a loose button on his coat. "There was _never_ any chance of you getting me sick. I'm sorry. I couldn't tell you, not till--not.... Uh, my parents were paranoid about me picking up something weird, in the country. They made me get shots for everything, before I ever came to--"  
  
Yosuke bolted to his feet, suddenly furious. "Then, all this time--all those times I was terrified, thinking I might've--thinking you might get-- You were _lying_ to me?"  
  
Souji hung his head, but didn't try to deny it. "Yes."  
  
" _Why?_ "  
  
"Because...you wouldn't even hold my hand. That day in the hospital--the doctor said it was fine, but you could hardly stand it, not even with the covers between our hands."  
  
"So?"  
  
"So, you _knew_ you couldn't give me anything, that way. But you still wouldn't--and I thought maybe you couldn't bear to be touched at all. I thought you might be protecting yourself, with concern over my safety. You looked so fragile, and I couldn't...couldn't let you feel like you had to make yourself...so I went along with it. _He_ took advantage of you. If I'd pushed you, even a little bit, even by taking away something you could hide behind, I'd never have forgiven myself. Maybe I was wrong, but--"

"You weren't wrong." Yosuke wanted to stay mad. He wanted to tell Souji to stick his excuses up his arse. But they _weren't_ excuses, not really. Souji had tried to do the right thing, and maybe it _had_ even been right, or at least merciful. And now he was apologising again, eyes cast down in shame.  
  
"I'm still sorry. I should've been more honest."  
  
"I shouldn't have talked to you the way I did, before you left."  
  
Souji winced, as though the memory still hurt him. "Don't talk about that...please. I know it's a lot to ask, but...maybe we could start over?"  
  
"I'd like to."  
  
Souji stood still, and let Yosuke come to him. Yosuke did, holding him awkwardly, at first, then gently, with great care. The closeness was almost overwhelming, after so long with none. Before long, they were clinging to one another, laughing a little hysterically--not with amusement, but with relief, and happiness, and a shade of incredulity.  
  
"So, you'll really be at school, tomorrow?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And, afterwards?"  
  
"We'll take Nanako to Junes, or catch that stupid catfish; maybe both, or something else...."  
  
They stayed late, by the riverbank, making plans, making jokes, leaning against one another in the gathering dark. Yosuke remembered the first time he and Souji had sat this way; how, in the midst of his dark days, things had felt normal for a while. It gave him hope. Perhaps life could be normal again, and even good.  
  
One day.


End file.
